Deep Water
by dust on the wind
Summary: The mission should have been straightforward. But everything changed when the river broke its banks...
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

_The geographical details are entirely imaginary._

_Cover image: Georg Primavesi (1774-1855), **Moonlight landscape **(detail)_

* * *

The rain had not seemed so heavy when the car set out for Bernsdorf, but by the time it reached the bridge across the Aalenau River, the water streaming down the windscreen was making the driver's job very difficult indeed.

"I can't see a blessed thing," he said. "We'll have to pull over."

The passenger in the back disagreed. "Newkirk, we're already running late. And it has to be done tonight. London wants that train stopped. Colonel Hogan wants that train stopped. And I haven't blown anything up for nearly a month."

"That's all very well, Carter, but running off the road won't get us there any sooner," Newkirk replied irritably.

LeBeau, who was sitting beside him in the front passenger seat, gazed out of the window. He was in unusually low spirits. "The river's very high," he murmured, as they crossed the bridge.

Newkirk didn't hear him. The noise of the rain battering the roof and sides of the vehicle, added to the hissing of water thrown from the road surface by the wheels, was too loud.

The road dipped, and the rushing sound below the wheels deepened. LeBeau tensed, and looked at the driver. "Newkirk..." he said, his voice tight with anxiety.

"I know. As soon as we're through this puddle, we'll stop for a bit, see what the road's like. No, Carter, don't start with me."

The car drew to the edge of the road, and came to a halt. There was a long silence, then a squeaking noise as Carter tried to rub the condensation from the window. "I think it's easing off," he said, with his usual misplaced optimism. Neither of the others replied, and he subsided with a sigh, and a wistful glance at the package on the seat beside him.

Newkirk glanced over his shoulder. Whether it was an effect of the diffuse light, or the blue _Luftwaffe_ uniform he was wearing, Carter certainly looked washed out.

_He's still not a hundred per cent,_ thought Newkirk.

It was an added anxiety he didn't need. Carter was hardly ever sick; most infectious diseases that entered the camp seemed to pass him by. He wasn't proof, however, against injury. And it was a particular irritant to him that the explosion which had laid him up for the past four weeks hadn't even been one of his own.

LeBeau had taken the worst of it; he'd actually been in the kitchen of the Kommandant's private quarters when the newly-installed gas cooker blew up. Carter, waiting at table as usual, had just left the room. But he'd been badly concussed, and had remained _hors de combat _for some time afterwards.

Not that he would admit it; like most people who never ailed, he had no grasp of what was involved in convalescence. In fact, he'd been quite put out at being told that, until he could stand up for more than two minutes without falling over, he was not allowed to go out on assignments. This was his first excursion since his recovery; LeBeau's, as well. The Frenchman had suffered some pretty serious burns, and had been even slower to recuperate than Carter.

"I'm starting to worry about this caper," Newkirk said at length. "Perhaps we ought to give it a miss. Quiet, Carter. Let me think for a minute."

He gazed out at the falling rain, which in spite of Carter's hopeful utterance showed no sign of letting up.

They only had one chance at this train, and its cargo of heavy armaments. Perhaps it wasn't a case of changing the course of the war, but it would certainly make a difference in terms of lives lost on the battlefields of Normandy. The designated sabotage point was not much further.

"Okay." Newkirk came to a decision. "We keep going. But if the road gets any worse, we'll have to have a rethink."

He put the car in motion, and proceeded cautiously through the downpour, which became heavier over the next few minutes. It took all of his concentration to keep the vehicle steady; and he remained on the alert, which was lucky. When the headlights of the oncoming vehicle suddenly veered into their path, he reacted almost instantly, hit the brakes and swung the steering wheel hard left.

The wheels skidded on the wet road surface; the steering locked, and the front end slewed into the ditch along the side of the road, while the truck which had caused the disaster swerved violently back onto its own side of the road, and careered off without stopping.

"You ignorant bloody great tosser!" Newkirk flung the door open, and stepped out into knee-deep, icy water. His next few utterances, as he scrambled from the ditch, were somewhat less polite. After that, however, he remembered his passengers, and turned back to the car to check on them. He could hear Carter complaining vehemently from the back seat.

"You all right, Andrew?" he demanded sharply.

"I think I broke my nose." Carter's voice was muffled; he was trying to stem the flow of blood with a handkerchief, and failing completely. Even by the feeble illumination of the headlights reflected back from the ditchwater, he was a gruesome sight.

"LeBeau?"

The Frenchman didn't answer. He'd taken one look at Carter, and passed out.

"Oh, that's just brilliant!" muttered Newkirk.

Carter was making ineffectual attempts to open the door with his left hand, while clutching the handkerchief against his nose with his right. Newkirk yanked at the handle, hauled him out and sat him on the edge of the road.

"Keep your head tipped forward," he said. "You don't want the blood going down the back of your throat." He shone his flashlight on Carter's face, and ran his fingers gently across the bridge of the afflicted feature. "I don't think it's broken," he added. "Just pinch it a bit, to stop the bleeding. And watch out for traffic. I'll go see to LeBeau."

"I'm getting rained on," Carter protested, but Newkirk was already on the other side of the car.

LeBeau was just coming round. "_Ça va_," he murmured in response to Newkirk's curt enquiries. "Is Carter okay?"

"Just a nosebleed. He'll do. But we're in a bit of trouble."

Newkirk turned his attention to the car. He'd managed to avoid ditching it completely, but the edge of the channel was extremely soft; getting out was going to be a problem, and the water below appeared to be rising.

"We better have you out of there, before I try to get back on the road," he said.

As LeBeau tottered onto dry land, he gave a stifled exclamation, and averted his eyes. Carter, still dabbing at his nose with the increasingly objectionable handkerchief, was approaching.

"Carter, just stop there," said Newkirk hastily. "LeBeau, don't look. He's fine. You go and wait over there while I sort this out."

"You'll never do it," replied LeBeau, holding his ground, though he didn't look at Carter. "Not without help."

Newkirk's eyes moved from him to Carter. Both were badly shaken, and probably not ready for the effort needed to get the car out of trouble. But LeBeau was right; and in spite of the nosebleed, Carter was the one in better shape. "LeBeau, you get behind the wheel. Carter, round that side, ready to give it a shove."

He slid down into the ditch, muttering under his breath, and braced himself against the front guard. "Okay, LeBeau," he called out. "Give it a bit - not too much."

The back wheels spun ineffectively against the road surface; the car moved a couple of inches, then slipped forward again. Newkirk, uttering a startled squawk, barely got clear.

"Well, that went well," he observed sourly. "All right, Carter?"

"Fine," replied Carter indistinctly, getting into position for another attempt.

The second try was no more successful than the first. "This isn't going to work," said Carter.

"Well, what do you suggest, Carter? It's another ten miles to Bernsdorf, then thirty miles back to Stalag 13 after the job's done. We can hardly walk it, even if you don't take the weather into account." Newkirk regarded him with exasperation.

Carter didn't answer him. He was holding the bloodstained handkerchief to his nose again. Newkirk swore softly. Then he turned his head. Another vehicle was approaching, a heavy one from the sound of the motor. Inwardly thanking the fates for the first bit of good luck that day, Newkirk stepped out to flag the army lorry down.

"_Bitte, können Sie uns helfen?_"

A tow from the truck soon got them back on the road. The driver, however, brought bad news.

"The road into Bernsdorf is impassable," he explained, as he removed the tow rope from the staff car's rear bumper. "We were turned back, and told to try to reach Hammelburg, and from there to take the north road through Gardheim. I suggest you do the same."

Newkirk passed this on, after the truck had set off. "It'd take us all night just to get there," he added. "Assuming the Gardheim road isn't cut off, as well. Sorry, Carter. We're going to have to let this one go."

Carter sighed, looking down the road towards Bernsdorf. He had to accept it, but he didn't have to be happy about it. Without a word he got back into the car.

They didn't get far. Long before they got within sight of the bridge, a subtle change in the reflection of the headlight beams alerted Newkirk to a danger he'd already half-expected. The river had risen since they'd passed this way.

He didn't dare brake too fast; the car came to a halt just inches short of a dark expanse of water covering the road ahead.

"Oh, bollocks," he murmured. Neither of the others answered him.

The tail-lights of the truck which had pulled them out of the ditch could be seen ahead, distorted by submersion. Apparently the driver had got some distance into the flood before realising just how deep it was, and how fast-moving. Now he was stuck, the lorry leaning slightly as the flood surge swept across the road surface.

"He won't make it," murmured Newkirk. Automatically, he got out of the car, trying to figure out how to reach the trapped men and get them to safety. Carter and LeBeau, with the same thought in mind, followed. Enemy soldiers or not, they couldn't be left to drown.

It was hopeless. There was no way to get to them. At the very limit of visibility, the dim lights of the lorry tilted sideways, then tipped altogether and vanished from sight.

"Did they get out of there?" asked Carter.

"Couldn't tell." Newkirk was pretty sure they hadn't. "Nothing we can do about it now, anyway. We've got plenty to worry about on our own account."

Vaguely puzzled that the water could have reached such a height in so short a time, he continued to stare at the glimmer of light on its rippling surface. Then he took a deep breath, and wiped the raindrops from his face with an impatient hand.

"This is serious," he said, in a low voice. "It looks like we're cut off in both directions. And if it doesn't stop..."

He didn't finish, but LeBeau and Carter both knew what he was thinking. Getting back to Stalag 13 was not their only problem. They were effectively stranded, and the river was still rising.

For once, the Germans were not the greatest danger. They were facing an enemy more implacable and much more unpredictable: the floodwaters of the Aalenau River.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't easy, trying to consult a large road map within the confines of the staff car, and Newkirk's outer garments were so thoroughly soaked that in spite of his attempts to keep from dripping, the map was getting damp.

"Keep that light steady, Carter," he snapped. Carter, sitting behind him and leaning over the back of the seat, gave him a reproachful look, and held the flashlight higher.

"The way I see it, we've got two choices," Newkirk went on. "We can sit and wait for the water to go down, which could take days, or we can try to find another way home. I'm leaning towards getting home. This isn't exactly high ground we're on, so we could still end up with wet backsides if we hang around." He peered at the map again. "It's a pity we didn't find out from those Krauts how far along the road was cut," he added.

"Maybe we could get through to Bernsdorf, by the back road through Petschen," said LeBeau, indicating the line on the map. "It's further from the river, so the flooding might not be so bad there."

Newkirk weighed up the suggestion, and found it wanting. "It's further from the Aalenau, but you've got the Esche on the other side. If it's up over its banks as well, things might be even worse. And even if we made it through, we'd be stuck there, perhaps for days. That's a lot of roll calls we'd end up missing." He squinted at the map again. "This road along the top of the ridge is probably our best bet to start with. Then we can turn off here, and with luck we'll make it to Heiligen." He tapped the map with one finger. "From there we can try to reach Stalag 13 by the south road. It'll take hours, but it's probably our best shot."

"What if it's under water, too?" asked Carter, peering at the map with a frown.

Newkirk glowered at him. "If that isn't just like you, Carter. Always looking on the bright side. Here, you hang on to the map."

The rain had stopped, and the sky seemed less heavy than before. As they reached the top of the low ridge above the valley, a momentary break in the clouds allowed the moonlight to illuminate the riverflats below for a few seconds. Involuntarily, Newkirk braked.

"Holy cow!" murmured Carter; and inadequate though the utterance was, neither LeBeau nor Newkirk had any argument with it.

They could see the town of Bernsdorf, a small dark island in the middle of an inland sea extending almost all the way across the valley, sparsely scattered with isolated patches of elevated ground and tree-tops. The black ribbon of road leading to the town vanished under the water, re-emerged some distance away only to sink below the shimmering surface again.

Then the clouds closed over, and the valley fell into darkness.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I doubt the train's going to get through for a few days," observed Newkirk. "The railway line's right in the middle of that."

Unseen by the others in the darkness, his eyebrows drew together as he put the car in motion. He wasn't prepared to say anything at this stage; perhaps Carter and LeBeau hadn't thought of it yet. But a little way upstream from where they had crossed the Aalenau, it was joined by another river, the Distel, a deep, fast-flowing watercourse which crossed a floodplain much narrower than the one where Bernsdorf lay. The side road they were going to try would encounter that stream, before crossing the Aalenau again and turning to follow its path downstream towards Heiligen.

If the Distel had also broken its banks, it would leave them with few options.

It started to rain again, not as relentlessly as before but heavily enough for Newkirk to have to slow down; and even so, he almost missed the turning, and had to brake sharply. The side road, once gained, was narrow, and so closely hemmed in by forest that branches swept across the windows on both sides. Newkirk, his attention focused on the road ahead, was still aware of how tense LeBeau was, and the way he flinched at each sound. Behind him, he heard, or thought he could hear, every breath Carter took; the damage to his nose, though not serious, was causing him a lot of discomfort.

Presently the woods opened out, and the road ran in wide curves between low-lying fields. Here the water lay in patches, occasionally encroaching onto the roadway, silver in the darkness. As they descended, the fields became more sodden, the overflows deeper and wider. Newkirk gripped the steering wheel more firmly, his eyes searching for what he already knew was somewhere in front of them. And as the car swept round yet another broad bend, he found it, directly ahead. They'd reached another dead end.

"Now what?" asked Carter, after they'd sat in silence for some time, staring at the rushing, debris-filled water blocking their route.

Newkirk rubbed his forehead. "No idea, Andrew. I don't suppose you know how to make a canoe? No, didn't think so." He got out of the car, and walked to the edge of the floodcourse. LeBeau joined him a few moments later.

"Okay, you were right," said Newkirk at length. "We should have gone on to Bernsdorf."

"We probably would not have got through," murmured LeBeau. Then, after watching the flow for a while, he added, in a soft wondering voice, "It's running fast, _n'est-ce pas_?"

Newkirk didn't reply. "Did you hear something?" he asked, after a moment.

They both stood listening. LeBeau swore quietly in French. "There's someone out there," he added sharply. "I can't see."

He ran back to the car, and returned with a large flashlight, and Carter at his heels.

"If the rain would let up...!" muttered Newkirk.

The beam of the flashlight was swallowed up by the darkness. But all of them heard the cry from somewhere in the middle of the swift-flowing torrent.

"Over there," said Newkirk. He'd just caught sight of something, almost beyond the reach of his eyesight. "Oh, blimey, there's a car. They're on top of a car, right in the middle of it."

He couldn't make out any other details, but the voice raised in yet another cry for help was too high-pitched for a man. In spite of the current, the car seemed stationary; it must have got caught against some obstruction, a tree perhaps, or the bridge which must cross the river here somewhere. But it could break loose any time; or if it didn't, it was certain to be submerged before long.

"We gotta do something, guys," said Carter. "There's some rope in the trunk, maybe if we can get it across there..."

"Not long enough," Newkirk interrupted tersely. It was hard to estimate the distance, but he thought about forty yards; not very far if the ground had been dry, but under current conditions it might as well have been forty miles. "The detonator cable," he said suddenly. "How much of that have you got?"

"Couple of hundred yards, maybe. But..."

"How will we get it to them?" put in LeBeau, cutting across Carter's objection.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? I'll have to swim out with it." Newkirk didn't sound happy about the prospect.

LeBeau gazed at the water as it surged past, then shook his head. "_Pas possible_. The current is too strong."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. At least I've got some chance. You'd never make it, and Carter can't swim."

"Can you?" asked Carter, half offended.

"Course I can. One summer when I was a lad, we spent a couple of weeks in Aberystwyth with my mum's sister. Her kids made sure I learned," replied Newkirk grimly, as he took off his boots. "Took me down the pier, and pushed me off the end into Cardigan Bay. And when I got out, they pushed me in again." He shrugged off his topcoat. "Never trust the Welsh," he added in bitter accents, "even if they're relatives."

LeBeau wasn't listening. "If you must do it, start from a little way upstream," he said. "That way you might have time to get far enough out before the current takes you past them."

Carter went back to the car to fetch the reel of cable, and followed as Newkirk padded barefoot along the muddy edges of the floodwaters. He didn't say a word, and in the darkness the look of apprehension on his face went unnoticed.

"As soon as I get there, tie off the end of the cable to the front of the car," said Newkirk, as he secured the end around his waist. "That's probably the nearest we'll get to a secure anchor point."

"Newkirk, I don't know if this stuff is strong enough," Carter faltered. "What if it breaks?"

There was a momentary silence, while each of them considered the likely consequences if his misgiving proved correct. Then Newkirk braced up.

"Well, looks like we're about to find out," he replied; and nothing in his voice gave away how scared he was. What he was about to attempt was risky. He could swim, all right, but that might not be enough. It was going to take more, against the relentless, powerful force of the uncontained river. He was going to need all his strength, and a lot of luck, if he was to make it across.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time he was knee-deep, Newkirk was already having trouble keeping his feet. The pull of the floodwater was stronger than he'd expected, and the ground beneath had a soft, slippery texture, and an unnerving tendency to move with the current.

LeBeau signalled with the flashlight to the people clinging to the almost submerged vehicle, far out in the centre of the flood, to let them know that help was coming. Then he returned to where Carter stood, feeding out the cable from its reel.

"He'll make it, Louis," Carter murmured; seeking reassurance, not offering it.

"Of course he will," agreed LeBeau. But his heart faltered with every step Newkirk took.

Soon Newkirk's feet slid in the soft silty mud, and before he knew what had happened, he was under. He struggled to the surface, drew a quick breath of air, and struck out, angling across the flow towards the stranded car.

It wasn't like swimming in Cardigan Bay. The water felt thick and gritty, and he was buffeted not just by the current, but by broken branches and other debris carried downstream. Between the pressure of the water, the lack of visibility and the effort required to keep going, he was closer to losing his nerve than he'd ever been, even on the most dangerous missions.

He soon lost all sense of time and place, even of purpose. All that mattered was to keep on, for as long as his strength held out. So focused was he on that objective that when, from somewhere nearby, a warning cry reached him, he couldn't think where it came from.

He stopped in mid-stroke. The water immediately took him, and he almost panicked. Then he came up against some kind of large, solid obstruction, with a violence that half stunned him. Instinctively he grabbed at whatever it was; his hand found a shaft of metal, cold and inflexible under his fingers. He gripped it tightly, then got his other hand to it as well, while the river tried to drag him away.

The car. He had managed to get hold of the door pillar, his hands clinging to the edge of the open window frame. Exerting himself further, he hauled himself back against the current, just as someone reached down from the roof of the car and clasped his wrist.

It was just enough, though whoever it was didn't have much strength. Newkirk, straining every muscle, using the wing mirror as a foothold, managed to get his other foot onto the protruding door handle. Another pair of hands fastened on to his shirt, almost ripping the fabric, and with a final effort, bracing both feet in the window frame, he pushed himself onto the roof.

He was done. For almost a minute, he couldn't move, but just lay exhausted, his feet still in the water, his whole body wracked with each breath. Those hands still held him, safe for a few moments.

At last he raised his head, blinking the water from his eyelashes as he tried to see. There was barely enough light to show him who he'd swum out here for, but there were two of them: a man, elderly and not too strong-looking; and a girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, still young enough to wear her hair in long plaits.

It was the man who spoke, and his voice, barely audible against the roar of the torrent, confirmed what his appearance suggested; it was cracked with age. "_Geht es Ihnen gut, mein Herr?_"

It seemed absurdly formal, given the circumstances; Newkirk could have laughed aloud, if he'd had the strength left. As it was, he just nodded, and sat up, cautiously; the roof was as smooth and slippery as ice, and almost as cold.

Through the rain he could see the headlights of the staff car, on the other side of the water, twinkling and dimming intermittently as someone - Carter or LeBeau - passed in front of them.

The girl was still clinging to Newkirk's shirt, as if afraid he would vanish the moment she let go. She was obviously almost petrified; considering where they were, he couldn't blame her.

"Right, " he said. "Let's see about getting you out of this."

As a precaution, he wound the cable several times around his hand and held it firmly before untying the end from around his waist. It seemed a frail lifeline, now that he was out here, but three lives would depend on it. Turning so he could lie flat, he reached down to wrap it around the door pillar through the open windows, and fastened it as securely as possible.

Then he looked at his two companions. Even with the cable to cling to, he doubted either of them would make it across on their own. It meant two trips for him; he was going to have to take them over one at a time, somehow holding on to the line while keeping each protégé from being swept away. They would have to be tied to together.

_I should have brought that rope_, he thought. Oh, well, too late now. It would have to be his shirt; it was ruined, anyway. He gently detached the girl's hold, and took it off. He still had his undervest, at least.

"Now then, who wants to go first?" he asked.

"You go, _Opa_," said the girl tremulously.

"_Nee, Liebchen._ You must go. I can hold on longer." The old man was probably right; in spite of age and infirmity he had a more resilient look than did his granddaughter.

She looked as if she might argue, but Newkirk wasn't having it. There wasn't time; the water was still rising. "Okay, this is how we'll do it. You hold on to me, as tight as you can, and we'll tie this around the both of us, just to be safe, then we'll go hands over along the line till we get to dry land. Piece of cake, right?" He knew it wouldn't be that easy, but he wasn't going to say so.

"Come, Irma." The old man added his weight to the argument. "You will be quite safe with this gentleman. I will follow."

"No. You wait for me to come back," said Newkirk firmly, although the thought of the extra journey terrified him. "Sorry to lay down the law, but that river's no joke. You'd never make it."

"But..."

"You have to wait, _Opa_." Irma broke in before he could begin an argument. "I won't go, unless you promise to wait."

She glared at her grandfather; he glared back. Newkirk, every sense alive to the rising river level, prepared to add his opinion, but it wasn't needed. Apparently Irma had the stronger will, and it was the old man who gave way first. "Very well, I will wait, if I can."

With Irma on his back, her arms around his neck and the shirt wrapped around both of them and tied by the sleeves, Newkirk prepared to brave the water again. The rain was lifting, and the headlights on the far bank seemed steadier than before; he could even make out the thin flashlight beam as it danced across the water.

He would make it, of course. What choice did he have?

"You ready?" he asked. Irma didn't reply, just tightened her grip. Newkirk grasped the cable, took a deep breath, and slid down into the river again.

The line, extending towards the far bank, seemed ridiculously thin, but its mere existence helped. Even so, it was heavy going; the additional mass of the girl's body put a further strain on his already fatigued muscles. Irma was a dead weight, unable to do more than hold on to him. He tried to ignore the discomfort, concentrating on his own slow but steady progress, one hand after the other, towards that far-off light. The pull of the current lessened as he got closer to dry land, allowing his legs to sink towards the thick mud at the bottom of the stream; and when his feet touched solid ground, the relief was enough to bring the prickle of tears in his eyes.

Carter waded out to meet him, and they covered the last few yards together, barely making it out of the water before Newkirk dropped. He had never ached so badly in his life. Irma still clung to him, almost in a complete stupor, while Carter tried with shaking fingers to force apart the knotted ends of the cotton fabric holding them together.

"_Laisse-moi__,_" said LeBeau sharply, pushing him aside and setting to work with a knife, and within a few seconds, Carter was able to lift the girl aside.

Newkirk pushed himself up from the mud, still panting for breath. "I have to go back," he said, his voice ragged with exhaustion.

Total silence initially greeted this statement; then the protests broke out.

"Newkirk, you can't do that."

"Impossible. I won't allow it."

LeBeau flung down the tatters of the shirt and grabbed Newkirk's arm as if to hold him back by force; and only the encumbrance of the girl in his arms prevented Carter from doing the same. Newkirk looked from one to the other; read determined opposition in one face, and deep trepidation in the other, and marshalled his forces for another battle against the elements.

"Look, that little girl's granddad is still stuck out there. He's got no hope of getting back here on his own."

"But..."

"No, LeBeau. I said I'd go back for him, and that's what I'm doing. Fetch me that rope out of the car. You've made a right mess of my shirt."

LeBeau didn't move. For several seconds, he just stared at his friend, trying to find an argument, unable to do so.

"Newkirk, you already did enough," said Carter. "I should go this time."

"I don't think so, Carter. You're not quite up to it yet. The current's stronger than you think. Anyway, you can't swim, remember? If the line broke...well, at least I'd have a chance, right?" Newkirk tried to sound confident, not wanting to admit how very slender he thought that chance would be. "LeBeau, we haven't got all night. Are you going for that rope, or should I whistle and see if it comes of its own accord?"

LeBeau shook his head, muttered something under his breath and went to fetch the rope, and Newkirk got to his feet. "You take care of that lass, all right, Andrew?" he said softly.

"Uh-huh." Carter's eyes were on the water. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn't going to say it. But his feelings were in his face for anyone to read.

With the rope slung around his shoulder and secured under his arm, Newkirk entered the water again. Irma had been moved to the shelter of the staff car, leaving Carter free to join LeBeau in watching as much of Newkirk's progress as could be made out.

"We should switch off the lights," murmured LeBeau. "We're wasting the battery." But he made no move to do so; and it was by the dim, rain-diffused beam of the headlights that he spotted the approach of an object much larger than the twigs and sticks that had troubled Newkirk on his first foray. The uncertain light and tumbling of the water made it impossible to estimate the size of the broken tree limb with any accuracy, but from the bank it looked enormous; and it was on an intercept course.

"Newkirk!" LeBeau put everything he had into the shout. Carter, unaware of the danger, gave him a startled look, then turned his eyes back to the water. He saw it; his eyes widened, and he cried out.

Even if Newkirk had heard them, he had no hope of avoiding it. The massive branch met him at the midway point of the cable; rolled, caught momentarily on the line, plunged under the water, then resurfaced and continued on downstream.

The two witnesses remained immobile, staring out into the darkness, and saw nothing but the slender line of cable, still reaching out over the relentless water. Of Newkirk, there was no sign.

He'd been lucky the first time. But sooner or later, luck always ran out.


	4. Chapter 4

LeBeau had his work cut out. Carter was almost beyond reason, and it took every scrap of persuasive power, and a degree of sheer physical force, to prevent him from plunging into the water in a vain attempt at rescue. As he couldn't swim, it would have been suicide, and in any case Newkirk was already gone beyond their help.

At least the necessity of keeping Carter from throwing his own life away prevented LeBeau from trying it himself; he'd come to his senses by the time Carter's desperation turned to despair.

For a couple of minutes, after Carter had suddenly ceased struggling against LeBeau's restraining hold, not a word was spoken. Both of them stood at the water's edge, silent and motionless.

They'd lost him. All the dangers they'd been through together, and in the end, it had come to this. It was scarcely believable that Newkirk had survived so many high-risk missions, run-ins with Gestapo and SS, near misses involving trigger-happy prison guards, tunnel cave-ins, only to fall to an act of nature.

Finally Carter took a deep breath, and lifted his head.

"That old man's still out there, Louis," he said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the tumult of the water.

LeBeau nodded, his eyes on the line which, against all expectation, still held. "I will have to go," he murmured.

"No." Carter's tone firmed. "Not this time."

"Carter..."

"I said no, LeBeau. It's my responsibility."

LeBeau shook his head. "You won't get even half way."

"I'll hang on to the cable. I won't need to swim at all. Don't make me pull rank, Louis," he added abruptly, as LeBeau continued to argue. "I will, if I have to. I should have..." He broke off, unable to follow the thought to its conclusion, and began taking off his outer clothing.

LeBeau had never seen him in this mood. "He might be able to stay afloat, André," he said tentatively. "He's pretty strong." But Carter shook his head, and kept his lips tightly closed.

Irma, almost lost to sight in Newkirk's cast-off top coat, came shuffling over from the car. She looked at Carter, then at LeBeau, and finally across the water. "_Wo ist der andere Herr_?" she asked, in a soft, timid voice.

"He didn't make it," Carter replied, almost without expression.

He spoke in English, but the girl obviously understood. She shrank away a little, her eyes still on the water, unsure what to say. "_Opa_...?"

"Hush," said LeBeau quickly, to forestall the response he could see forming on Carter's lips. She was only a child, already frightened and shocked; there was no point in upsetting her further. Carter, brought up short, turned back to his preparations, tugging off his gloves and handing them to LeBeau.

"We lost the rope with Newkirk," he said, in a low voice. "I'll have to take some of the detonator cable, and hope it holds. If I don't make it, you better not make a third try. Just look after that little girl, get her somewhere safe, and then go back and tell the colonel that...just tell him, okay? And maybe you should turn off the lights. If the battery gives out, you're in big trouble."

"You need the lights, Carter. I'll run the motor."

Carter nodded, and turned away; and LeBeau, his heart aching so much he almost wished he hadn't one, watched him wade out into the river that had already taken Newkirk from them. Irma, creeping closer, gazed after him as well, and after a minute or so LeBeau felt her cold little hand tentatively slip into his own. He made an effort to suppress his own anguish, and gave her fingers an encouraging squeeze.

"He'll be okay," he said softly, trying to sound as if he believed it.

The headlights were getting dimmer. LeBeau, letting go of Irma's hand, ran to the car to start the motor, and the low uneven throb of the motor blended with the water's rushing. Then he went back and put his arm around the girl's shoulders, like an older brother. "He will be okay," he said again. But this time he couldn't even pretend he thought so.

Carter wasn't confident, either. In spite of his lack of aquatic skills, he wasn't really afraid of water under normal conditions. But this wasn't any kind of normal, and he was already starting to think he'd made a big mistake. The only thing keeping him from turning back was the certainty that if he did, LeBeau would make the attempt; and LeBeau had been really sick, not so long ago. So Carter pressed on, clutching the line so tightly that his fingernails dug into the skin of his palms, and trying not to panic when the water got into his eyes and nose, or when he forgot to keep his mouth closed.

The flood had risen since Newkirk's last attempt, and the cable now skimmed the surface, which made it all the more difficult. The car was almost completely submerged, but as Carter got closer, his eyes, stinging and watering, could just make out the form of Irma's grandfather, huddled against the roof, somehow clinging on. With a final effort, Carter reached out, and grabbed hold of the top of the window frame. He went to speak, swallowed another mouthful of river, choked and almost let go. His head went under, but then a hand caught hold of his collar and dragged him back up.

A single, inconsequential thought emerged from the depths of his distress: _I'm supposed to be the one doing the rescuing__..._

At the water's edge, LeBeau still held on to Irma, who had started shivering. His eyes ached with trying to follow Carter's progress. The car was now lost to sight, Carter as well, but LeBeau kept watching, counting the passing of time by his own heartbeats.

He had almost given up hope. Newkirk hadn't made it; Carter's chances were even slimmer.

"I should not have let him go," he whispered.

The white line of the cable, gleaming in the headlights, suddenly gave a jerk. For a second LeBeau thought it had broken; but it snapped back into place, then jerked again.

"_Sie sind da_!" Irma flung up a hand, pointing. LeBeau's legs almost gave way.

"Stay there," he snapped out, before flinging caution to the wind, and plunging into the water.

Carter was about ready to drop. His arms hurt so badly he wasn't sure they'd ever recover, and he felt as if he'd swallowed enough water to float a battleship. For a few seconds, he clung to LeBeau, still waist-deep in the stream, unable to go further.

"Carter, come on. We're nearly there. Please, André, just a little further." LeBeau's words ran into each other in his agitation. Then he pulled himself together, gently released Carter's grip, and moved around to take some of the weight of the old man onto his own shoulders. The cable holding the two men together had loosened, and now slipped away and was lost to the current.

The girl paddled out as they got closer, and flung her arms around her grandfather. It didn't help; she was just an additional hindrance, under the circumstances. As soon as they reached land, LeBeau had to push her aside so he could lay the old man down on the ground, and begin administering first aid.

Carter staggered away, and collapsed against the fender of the car. For a few minutes, his stomach took control, ridding itself of most of the water he'd taken in. As the last spasm eased, he slipped to the ground, his back against the wheel arch, his whole body trembling. He could feel a trickling sensation on his upper lip; his nose had started bleeding again, but he couldn't find the strength to do anything about it. LeBeau was still working, but presently he straightened up.

"It's okay," he said. "He just passed out. He's coming round already."

Irma gave a sob of relief. Neither Carter nor LeBeau could share the emotion. They'd succeeded against all hope of success, and two lives had been saved. But all either of them could think of was the cost.


	5. Chapter 5

A few miles from Heiligen, standing on high ground above the expected river peak and protected by a wall of sandbags, a small group of tents huddled under the continuing downpour. A command post, a radio communications centre and a first aid station had been set up here by the local army command, to co-ordinate the operation to defend the town, and more importantly the military establishments nearby, from the imminent flood.

The man lying on the end cot in the first aid tent had been there for some time, as no transport was immediately available to take him elsewhere. He had been pulled from the river by a passing patrol, and had arrived unconscious, but his injuries seemed fairly minor, and an influx of casualties took the attention of the medics away from him until after he had come round.

As far as Newkirk was concerned, it was the only saving grace in the situation.

He had no very clear idea how he'd survived. Somehow, when the massive tree limb had struck him, he'd managed to hang on to it, and it had kept him afloat in the raging water. But he had no memory of being rescued, or of his arrival at the first aid station.

He wasn't even sure where he'd ended up, although he had a feeling he should try to get elsewhere, fast. But even though the medics were busy, his first attempt to get up had attracted immediate attention, and a curt instruction to remain where he was. It had also sent a sharp pain through his shoulder, and made his head spin. His chances of making a run for it were pretty well non-existent. But he had to find a way. LeBeau and Carter might need him.

He was still trying to come up with something when the army doctor in charge, having finished attending to an army sergeant with a broken finger, came over to check on him. "Your name?" he demanded brusquely, as he began an examination.

Newkirk stared at him, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't land him in even more trouble. The doctor took his pulse, then sighed impatiently. "Answer me. What is your name, and your unit?"

It took a few more seconds for Newkirk to make sense of the question. Then the penny dropped. They had assumed he was German; and a man of his age, and physically fit, would be in the military as a matter of course. Within moments he knew how he could turn the misunderstanding to his advantage.

"Langenscheidt," he replied. The effort hurt his throat, and he coughed, and couldn't continue till he got his breath back. "Corporal Langenscheidt, Luftstalag 13. I was on my way back there. If you give them a call on the radio, they'll probably send someone for me." Langenscheidt was in Hamburg on leave, but if word got back to Stalag 13 that the corporal had fetched up here, Klink would be safe to send someone for him. With a bit of luck, it would be Schultz; and Schultz could easily be manipulated into heading back up river to find Carter and LeBeau.

"Give them a call? Just like that?" The doctor regarded him as if he were insane; or perhaps he was just checking for signs of concussion. "This is an emergency situation, the radio is not to be used for calling a cab."

"Well, you could always just let me stay all night," murmured Newkirk. "That's assuming you don't need the bed for someone else."

"Out of the question. You will be moved to the hospital at Heiligen as soon as transport is available," snapped the doctor.

Newkirk rubbed his eyes. He couldn't let them dump him in Heiligen; it would put an end to any hopes of helping his mates. He would have to put some pressure on.

"Well, if you can't contact Stalag 13, is there any chance of sending word to General Burkhalter's office, to let him know the urgent message I was taking to Kommandant Klink hasn't been delivered? Of course, the general won't be happy about it. I only hope he won't do anything hasty. You know, they need medical personnel on the Russian Front just now."

The doctor had stiffened at the mention of Burkhalter, who was known throughout all branches of the military for his habit of reassigning anyone who incurred his displeasure; never to anywhere warmer, either. The man opened his lips to argue; paused, reconsidered, then said tentatively, "That does make a difference. Maybe we could contact the Luftstalag after all, and pass on the General's message."

"Top secret. For the Kommandant's ears only. Can't chance it on the radio," replied Newkirk.

There was a moment of wavering, before the doctor caved. He turned to the orderly standing behind him. "Taubman, please have the radio operator send a message to be relayed to Stalag 13. Tell them Corporal Langenscheidt is here, and ask them to send transport for him."

Newkirk breathed a sigh of relief. At least he'd cleared the first hurdle. Now, if only it was Schultz who came for him, maybe there was a chance. He relaxed a little, then stiffened again as the slight muscle movement sent another flash of pain through his shoulder. "You have some discomfort there," observed the doctor. "I will give you something for it."

"No, don't bother yourself with that," said Newkirk. Any kind of pain-killing medication might make him drowsy, and he was already having trouble staying alert. "Honestly, it's fine, I'd rather not. I'm afraid of needles, you see," he improvised rapidly as the doctor produced a hypodermic syringe from his kit. "Never could stand 'em, even as a kid. And you don't want to waste the stuff on...ow!"

The doctor paid no attention to his protest, and the needle plunged into Newkirk's upper arm. "That should keep you comfortable for now," said the doctor

"Thanks. Thanks a lot," muttered Newkirk. "That's just what I needed."

But the doctor had already moved away. Newkirk lay back on the cot, absently rubbing his thumb over the needle mark. The pain in his shoulder - and his side, and his legs, not to speak of the headache - all of it was bad enough to warrant the doctor's action. But it was going to make it much harder to stay on the ball when Schultz turned up.

For some time he lay still, listening to the unrelenting sound of the rain against the canvas. The ache in his shoulder was starting to ease, leaving a sense of lassitude which wasn't entirely unpleasant; he tried to fight it, but it was just too much trouble, and he finally allowed his eyes to close. He'd have plenty of time to wake up before Schultz got here.

He drifted in and out for a while; how long, he would never be sure. The general bustle of the first aid station, and the command post in the next tent, never faltered, but it seemed very far away, and he almost forgot it was there. Other casualties came in; some stayed, some went, but he didn't really pay much attention.

Until a voice he knew reached him. A voice like a file rasping on concrete.

"Just wrap a bandage around it. I have no time for this."

Newkirk woke with a start. This had to be a bad dream.

It wasn't.

"_Herr Major_, you have certainly broken a bone in your foot. You could do further damage if you continue to walk on it," stammered the doctor.

Newkirk turned, very slowly, easing the thin blanket up over his shoulders and past his chin to hide his face. His apprehension was correct. The man at the other end of the tent, sitting up on his cot attempting to menace the doctor examining his left foot, was Major Hochstetter, of the Hammelburg Gestapo.

He responded to the doctor's recommendation with a sneer. "Is that so? Or are you perhaps trying to hinder the work of the Gestapo?"

"I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. But I have a professional duty to inform you..."

"And you have done so. Now, if I am not back on my way within ten minutes, an army division in this area will shortly find its complement reduced by one medical officer. Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear, _Herr Major_." The doctor began to bandage the injured foot. "Do you require any pain medication?" he asked meekly.

"_Nein_. Just finish the job." Hochstetter fell silent; after a few seconds he winced and uttered a hiss.

"Sorry," murmured the doctor.

Hochstetter grunted, and turned his head, looking around the tent. His eye fell on Newkirk, but passed on, failing to recognise the small part of him which was visible. He cleared his throat. "Tell me, Doctor, you have had many patients here?"

"Quite a few, _Herr Major_."

"We are interested in a particular individual, a Doctor Zauner. About seventy years old, medium height, travelling with his granddaughter, who is aged fourteen."

The doctor did not stop working. "We have not seen anyone matching this description."

Newkirk had, but not at the first-aid station; and his fingers closed tight on the edge of the blanket. He'd thought the situation couldn't get any worse, but he'd been wrong. On top of the danger presented by the inundated countryside, and the near impossibility of getting back to camp, LeBeau and Carter had a new problem; they were in the company of two people sought by the Gestapo. And he had no way of letting them know.


	6. Chapter 6

The constant percussion of the rain on the roof had gone on for so long, Hogan was hardly aware of it any more. It had come in handy, anyway; so heavy and continuous a downpour meant assembly was cancelled, and although Schultz should have carried out a barracks inspection, he preferred to remain sheltered in the outer office of the Kommandantur, sitting by the phone in case of any late calls, secure in the belief that no escape attempt was likely under such discouraging meteorological conditions. So the absence of three men from Barracks 2 had gone unnoticed.

That being said, as the night advanced with no let-up in the weather, Hogan began to worry.

Newkirk was in charge, and he wasn't stupid. If it got too bad, he'd turn back. But all the same, an hour after lights out, Hogan remained at the window of his quarters, looking out past the water streaming down the glass, unable to relax.

The noise of the rain was loud enough to drown out all sounds from the outer barracks. He didn't even hear the tapping on the door heralding Kinch's entry.

"Colonel, we got trouble," he said tersely. "Just got word from the Underground at Hammelburg, relayed from Bernsdorf. Seems the river there has broken its banks, and half the valley's under water."

"You're kidding." Hogan turned sharply. "Serious?"

"The town's cut off on all sides," replied Kinch. "If the guys got through, there's no way they'll get out of there tonight. There's more flooding all along the river, from past Heiligen down river nearly to Gardheim, but so far there's no danger round here."

"Some comfort that is," muttered Hogan. "Damn it, I knew I should have called this one off."

"We couldn't have known, Colonel. The river came up a lot faster than expected." Kinch rubbed his forehead. "The train was halted at Salzenbad, it isn't going anywhere. So the mission's a write-off anyway."

He leaned on the desk. "What are we going to do, Colonel? You want to go after them?"

Hogan shook his head, slowly. "If we had any idea where they were, maybe. But they could be anywhere between here and Bernsdorf. We could miss them completely." He paused, thinking. "Assuming the road was cut off before they got there, they'll turn back. And if they did get to Bernsdorf, they know who to contact to get word to us."

He drew a deep breath, and drummed his fingers against the window frame. "We need more information," he said. "It's safe to assume Klink's been updated on the flood situation. Schultz is manning the office phone, so he'll know whatever there is to know. And whatever Schultz knows, we can find out."

He grabbed up his jacket and went out into the main barracks. Opening one of the window shutters slightly, he peered out into the sodden compound, while Kinch went to the door.

There was no sign the weather was easing. "I'll be right back," murmured Hogan, as he pulled the jacket on and zipped it closed. Scant protection from the downpour, but it was better than nothing.

"Hold it a minute," said Kinch. "Something's going on. Schultz just came out of the office."

He was right; the bulky form of the sergeant of the guard could just be made out, standing on the top step, obviously reluctant to leave the shelter of the office. Then he steeled himself and set off with heavy determination towards the end of the building. Even in this kind of weather, he wasn't permitted to enter Klink's private quarters by the connecting door from the office; he had to walk all the way around to the outside entrance.

"Has to be something important, to get Schultz outside in this." Hogan joined Kinch at the door. "I wonder..."

"You don't think the guys have been picked up by the Krauts?"

"No. Even if they were, they've got their papers in order, there's nothing to identify them as POW's. But I still want to know what's going on." Hogan eased the door open, glanced both ways, then slipped out of the barracks and ran across to the office.

He went straight through to the connecting door, and opened it cautiously. The sound of Klink's gramophone reached him; the Kommandant was still awake, and listening to Wagner. Hogan waited, breathing slowly, ready to retreat fast if he needed to.

He didn't hear Schultz's knock, but the music stopped abruptly. "Yes, Schultz, what is it?" Klink sounded irritable.

"_Bitte, Herr Kommandant_, there was a call from army command at Heiligen. Corporal Langenscheidt is there, they want us to come and get him."

"Langenscheidt? Isn't he on furlough?"

"_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_. Perhaps he came back early."

Klink made a low grumbling noise, scarcely audible from where Hogan was. "Does he think we have nothing better to do than chase after him? Let him find his own way back."

"If you please, _Herr Kommandant_, they said he got caught by the floods," said Schultz diffidently. "Some of the roads are very bad. I think someone should go and bring him back here."

The Kommandant didn't answer for several seconds. "Very well, Schultz," he muttered at last. "Go and get him. But I will have a few words to say to him when I see him."

Hogan didn't wait for anything more. He closed the door, and made a quick dash back to the barracks.

"Something's up, all right," he told Kinch tersely. "Schultz got a call to say Langenscheidt's at Heiligen, waiting to be picked up."

Kinch's forehead wrinkled. "Isn't Langenscheidt supposed to be in Hamburg till next week?"

"Yeah. Either he got bored there, and decided to come home - don't laugh, Kinch, it's possible with him - or more likely someone else is at Heiligen, pretending to be Langenscheidt." Hogan pressed his lips together, thinking fast. "Go find me a Kraut uniform - Luftwaffe - captain. And then meet me and Schultz at the motor pool."

"You think he'll let us tag along, Colonel?" said Kinch.

"It's Schultz, Kinch, remember?" replied Hogan.

He turned his collar up, and went out into the rain again.

The motor pool was a mess; broad pools of muddy water covered half the ground, and Hogan had to walk carefully. Most of the vehicles were under cover, but one lorry stood ready, its canvas covering gleaming as the spotlight passed across. Hogan climbed in behind the steering wheel, and waited.

Kinch got there first. "Schultz is just coming," he said. "He was over at the guards' barracks. Not his own quarters - the enlisted men's barracks."

"Maybe Langenscheidt, or whoever it is, needs a clean uniform," murmured Hogan thoughtfully. "Okay, Kinch, get in the back. Hi, Schultz," he went on, as the sergeant of the guard arrived, breathless from hurrying through the rain, clutching an untidy bundle of uniform garments.

"Colonel Hogan, please, there is no time for small talk," he panted. "We must get to Heiligen right away, before...Colonel Hogan, what are you doing here? Oh, you are going to get me into trouble again. Back to the barracks, quickly, before anyone sees you."

"And let Kinch go all the way to Heiligen without me? In this weather? Come on, Schultz, what kind of an officer would I be if I did that?"

"Kinch is not going to Heiligen...is he?"

"Well, he's in the truck, so I guess that means he's going." Hogan raised his voice. "Kinch, are you going to Heiligen?"

"Sure. But if it's on your way, you can drop me off in Chicago," replied Kinch.

"Colonel Hogan, I am not allowed to help you to escape," whimpered Schultz. "It would be worth my life. Please..."

"We're not escaping," said Hogan. "We're just coming along for the ride."

"Yeah, you don't really want to go all that way on your own, do you?" Kinch added. "I mean, who knows what the roads are like between here and Heiligen? Anything could happen."

"Still, if you insist, Schultz," Hogan went on. "You go right ahead and drive through the floods all night. Alone. You ever driven in flood conditions? No, I didn't think so. Well, it's your funeral - oh, gosh, that was tactless of me. Sorry."

For ten seconds, the matter hung in the balance, then with a half-whine, half growl of frustration, Schultz gave way, and stomped around to the passenger side.

He sulked silently for the first fifteen minutes of the journey. Hogan was glad of it; the road conditions were worse than he'd anticipated, and he didn't need any distractions. Kinch had gone quiet, too, as he realised just how serious the situation was out here.

It took almost an hour to reach Heiligen. "Where to, Schultz?" asked Hogan, as the outskirts of the village came into sight.

"Straight through," replied Schultz, in a subdued tone. He'd got over his temper some time ago, but the closer they got to Heiligen, and the more inundated fields they passed, the more apprehensive he became. "There is a command post on the other side of the village, that's where Langenscheidt is waiting."

"Okay, then we better stop here so I can change into German uniform." Hogan pulled the truck over to the side of the road.

"Change into...what - what German uniform?" stammered Schultz, his eyes bulging.

"The one in the back, Schultz. It'll only take a minute."

"But-but-but..."

"What's the matter, Schultz? I'm only doing it for you. You turn up with two American POWs, they're going to ask questions, right? This way is easier."

"And what about Kinchloe?"

"Don't worry about me, Schultz, I'll just stay out of sight," said Kinch reassuringly.

Hogan had already climbed out of the cabin and made his way into the back of the truck. Schultz remained, shaking his head slowly, unable to work out quite how he'd found his way into this situation.

"They will get me shot," he mumbled to himself, over and over. "One of these days, they will get me shot."


	7. Chapter 7

It took some time to locate the command post. Schultz had been given directions, but he hadn't really taken them in, and he became hopelessly confused once they'd passed through the town.

Hogan finally stopped and asked a passing farmer, who was moving his pigs to higher ground. His instructions were clear, if a trifle disturbing. "Keep going straight on till you reach the dead cow, then turn right. It's on top of the hill, you can't miss it. Oh, and take care. An army truck overturned, and there are a few live grenades lying around."

At least this gave Schultz something else to worry about.

"Oh, boy, something smells bad," said Kinch after a while, leaning over from the back of the truck. "Is that the dead cow?"

"I think it's just the floodwater," replied Hogan grimly. "Better get used to it."

The command centre was buzzing with activity, and Hogan parked the truck a little distance away. "Kinch, you wait here, and keep your head down," he murmured. "Don't look so worried, Schultz. Just let me do the talking."

"Let him do the talking, he says," muttered Schultz under his breath. "Maybe I should have just packed my things and kept driving till I got to Stalingrad. It would have saved time." Nevertheless, he followed Hogan towards the first aid tent, clutching the bundle of clothes he'd brought for Langenscheidt.

Here it was quieter; there seemed to be a lull in the flow of casualties, and the medical staff were taking a brief rest when Hogan entered. None of them moved, but one man looked up. "Can I help you?" he asked, in a tone which made it clear he'd rather not.

"Captain Gruber, Luftstalag 13," replied Hogan crisply. Behind him, Schultz uttered a stifled groan. "I believe you have one of our men here."

"Over there." The medic indicated the far end of the tent with a jerk of the head. "Still asleep, as far as I know."

"Is he badly hurt?" asked Schultz tentatively.

"Nothing serious. You can take him back to your camp."

Schultz pushed past Hogan and approached the patient in the end cot. "Karl, are you awake?" he said. "It's me, Sergeant Schultz. I've come to bring you home." Then, as he got closer, he stopped in his tracks. "But...but...oh, Colonel - I mean Captain, this time he went too far. Oh, boy, did he go too far!"

The patient appeared to be dozing, but at the sound of the familiar voice he stirred, and his eyes opened. "Well, if it isn't old Schultzie," he murmured sleepily. Then his gaze went past Schultz to find Hogan, and a slow smile formed. "I might have known..."

Hogan pulled up a camp stool from nearby, and sat down, taking off his gloves. "Okay, Newkirk, take it easy," he said quietly. "You don't look too good."

"I've been better, sir. They gave me something - pain-killer, it's made me a bit..." Newkirk trailed off, blinking. After a moment of apparent confusion, he tried to sit up. The movement made him light-headed, and Hogan put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, causing him to wince.

"Sorry," said Hogan.

"I'm all right, Colonel," Newkirk mumbled. "But we should get moving. LeBeau and Carter are still out on the road somewhere, and Hochstetter's looking for the old geezer and the girl, so..."

"Wait a minute," Schultz put in. For the moment, Hochstetter's name had passed him by. "LeBeau and Carter escaped, too? Oh, I really have to report this. As soon as we get back to camp..."

Hogan cut in without ceremony. "Wouldn't it be better to find 'em first, Schultz? No good heading back to Stalag 13 without them, is it? They could be in Switzerland by the time you make that report. And that's not going to go over well with Klink."

"But, Colonel Hogan, please..."

"Don't just stand there, Schultz. Let's get Newkirk into his clean uniform."

"It isn't his uniform. It isn't even his size," grumbled Schultz. He knew he'd already lost the argument, but as usual had no notion of conceding graciously.

"Well, it'll have to do." Hogan stood up. "Come on, we haven't got all day. And while you're dressing, Newkirk, you can tell me all about this girl you just mentioned, and explain how Hochstetter's involved."

Newkirk slowly eased himself up from the cot. "Not that sort of girl, Colonel," he said in a hoarse whisper. "This is a lass of fourteen, got caught in the flood with her granddad. We got her out safely, but I got into a bit of bother going back for the old man. So I don't even know if he made it all right." His forehead contracted as he considered the chances.

"Where did you last see them? And where does Hochstetter fit in?"

"He was here a while ago. Not sure how long, I seem to have lost track of the time a bit. But he told the medic he was looking for a Doctor - Zauner, I think it was, and his granddaughter. He broke his foot," Newkirk added, wrinkling his brow in the effort to remember everything. "We were north of the Distel, up river maybe five miles. I thought we'd be able to cross over and reach Heiligen, but the bridge was under water, and then..." His voice died away, and he shook his head impatiently to try to clear it.

Hogan helped him into Langenscheidt's shirt. It was a tight fit; Langenscheidt was narrow across the shoulders. "Who broke his foot? The doctor?"

"No, Hochstetter. But he's not letting it slow him down much." Newkirk drew a sharp breath as he drew the shirt over his shoulder. "Sorry, Colonel. Just a bit sore across there."

"Colonel Hogan, I do not wish to meet Major Hochstetter." Schultz was growing even more agitated, as it dawned on him that the two missing POWs were not the sum total of the disaster. "Not while I am transporting escaping prisoners. Please, can't we just go back to camp?"

"And leave my men out in this weather? Never," replied Hogan. He took the uniform jacket from Schultz's hands and held it up for Newkirk to slip his arm into. "Leave the other arm out," he said. "The topcoat can just go over your shoulders." He glanced down at Newkirk's bare feet. "Where are your boots?" he asked.

"Still in the car, I hope," replied Newkirk. He was quite wobbly on his feet; Hogan hoped it was just the medication. He took Newkirk's arm, and nodded to Schultz to help from the other side.

As they headed back towards the tent flap, the doctor in charge came to meet them. "Just one moment, please," he said.

Hogan stopped. He glanced at Newkirk, and then at Schultz, who looked as if he were about to burst a blood vessel. "Yes, what is the problem?" he asked, in a bored tone.

"Your man was suffering from mild hypothermia when he arrived," said the doctor. "He needs to be kept warm, and allowed plenty of rest. And have your medical officer monitor his condition."

"Thank you," replied Hogan. "We'll be sure to do that."

The doctor hadn't finished. "In addition, there are certain water-borne diseases he may have been exposed to. So if in the next two weeks he develops any symptoms, you will be well advised to take him straight to the nearest hospital."

Hogan didn't like the sound of that. "What kind of symptoms?"

"Any fever," the doctor replied, "cramps or muscular aches and pains, nausea and vomiting, diarrhoea..." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Any kind of rash, difficulty breathing or swallowing ... general fatigue or debility ... sometimes the symptoms can also include nervousness and depression."

"I'm not surprised," muttered Newkirk, who had listened with increasing dismay to the catalogue of horrors he had, potentially, to look forward to.

"We'll keep a close eye on him, in that case," said Hogan. "Anything else? Then we'd best be going. Oh, by the way, we may need to get across the river. Is there a safe crossing?"

"The nearest would be the Bismarck Bridge, near Gardheim. It's built high, and it's still open," replied the doctor. "But I thought you were going to Stalag 13. This man said he had an urgent message for the Kommandant, from General Burkhalter."

"That was hours ago," Newkirk put in. "You doctors really don't understand about deadlines, do you?"

"So now we have to go back to the general's headquarters for further instructions," Hogan added.

The doctor looked even more puzzled. "Isn't the general based at Hammelburg?" he asked hesitantly.

Schultz opened his mouth to utter an agreement, stopped, thought better of it, and closed his lips firmly. As usual, it was in his best interest to know nothing. Hogan glanced at Newkirk, and a condescending smile crossed his face.

"Gotta love the medical corps," he remarked. "They never have a clue what's going on."

And before the doctor could respond, he and his companions had gone out into the rain and the darkness.

Kinch was watching for them, and as he saw them approaching he leaned out over the tailgate to help lift Newkirk into the truck. "Well, that ain't Langenscheidt," he remarked. "What about...?"

"Still on the other side of the river," replied Hogan. "I've just been told there's no crossing closer than Gardheim."

"Gardheim is too far away," said Schultz, making a belated effort to assert himself. "We can not go there tonight."

Hogan boosted Newkirk up into the truck before he replied. "You're right, Schultz. It'd take us till dawn just to get there, and by the time we did, they could be anywhere." He paused, thinking. "You better get in. I'll keep driving."

Schultz hesitated, then growled, and went round the side of the truck.

"We're not just going to leave them out there, Colonel?" Newkirk's voice sounded rough, whether from exhaustion, near-drowning or the effect of the medication was unclear. "We can't do that. You don't know what it's like, that side of the river."

"I never said anything about leaving them." Hogan pulled his gloves over his hands with sharp, jerky movements. "But for everyone's sake, we have to be smart about this. I wasn't kidding - the medical corps don't have a clue. So I'm not prepared to take their word for it, and head off to Gardheim, without getting some more information first. Kinch, who do we know in Heiligen?"

Kinch didn't answer at once. After some thought, he nodded. "There's a hotel there - _Die Sonne_ - the owner was in the Underground. He died, but his widow's still running the place, as far as I know. Maybe she could help, if she's on our side."

"Maybe even if she isn't." Hogan nodded. "Okay. We'll give it a shot."

"What about Schultz?"

Hogan laughed, quietly and without humour. "You kidding? We're taking Schultz to a hotel, Kinch." He didn't need to finish; both Kinch and Newkirk knew Schultz well enough to follow the thought to its conclusion.

Once they got Schultz to the hotel, found the bar and got a few beers into him, he wouldn't care what they got up to for the rest of the night.


	8. Chapter 8

"You are not German soldiers."

The old man came out with this observation in a slightly puzzled tone. He was in the back seat of the staff car, with his granddaughter asleep on his shoulder, and Newkirk's greatcoat wrapped around both of them for warmth. He had given his name as Josef Schmidt, although there had been something odd in his voice, and the sideways look he gave them as he introduced himself. LeBeau had doubts, but for now his other worries took priority.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, without turning his head. He didn't dare take his eyes off the road, in case they met any more water. He had decided, without consultation, to return to the main road along the ridge, and from there to head west, in hope of crossing the river further downstream.

Josef Schmidt - or whoever he was - sighed. "Your friend spoke English. And you are obviously a Frenchman."

"There are French soldiers in the German army," LeBeau remarked.

"But not so many English and Americans."

It sounded like one of those jokes; one Newkirk might have had in his repertoire, perhaps. _An Englishman, a Frenchman and an American walk into a pub..._ But the similarity broke down at the point where the Englishman drowned. LeBeau pressed his lips together. He couldn't afford to think about that now.

Carter's unprecedented outbreak of assertiveness had not lasted beyond the bout of sickness which had overtaken him as soon as he had reached dry land. It had left him feeling hollow and drained, and he went along with whatever LeBeau suggested, too chilled and weary to argue, too grief-stricken to care. For LeBeau, the need to take charge was something of a relief; he didn't want to face his loss, not yet, not here.

Each of them was keenly aware of, and responsive to, the other's pain, but it wasn't to be shared with strangers.

"Who are you, then?" the old man went on. "How do you come to be here, in those uniforms? Are you commandos? Spies, perhaps?"

"Just soldiers," Carter put in. The water which had gone down his throat and come back again had caused some inflammation, and his voice rasped, sounding gruffer than usual.

"I do not mean..." Schmidt's voice faltered; he looked down at Irma, and gently shifted her to a more comfortable position. "You saved our lives, and lost a comrade. I am not so ungrateful as to forget that."

He was silent for a while.

"Where are we going?" he asked at length.

LeBeau hesitated before replying. "I don't think we have any hope of crossing further upstream," he said at last. "But if we head back the way we came, maybe we can reach that big new bridge down from Gardheim. You know the one, Carter."

"Yeah, I know. We got it pencilled in for next month," murmured Carter. He seemed lethargic, and shivered every now and then. The rescue, on top of what had happened before, had worn him out.

"You can take us south of the river?" said Schmidt. "I am not familiar with the area around Gardheim. Is there any way to get to Hammelburg from this place? How long would it take?"

"From Gardheim, a couple of hours, if the roads are open," replied LeBeau after a moment's thought; partly calculating distance, partly assessing whether he trusted this man enough to let on that they were headed that way themselves. "And from here to Gardheim, a little longer than that, maybe two and a half."

"That's almost five hours, Louis," Carter put in. "It's nearly one a.m. now, by the time we get back to..."

"I know." LeBeau interrupted quite sharply. Carter had a habit of speaking before he thought, and sometimes he said more than he should.

Carter shut up, but after a few moments something else occurred to him. "I don't think we got enough gas to go that far," he said. "That sergeant in the motor pool doesn't always fill the tank. I bet he only gave us enough to get to Bernsdorf and back."

LeBeau's eyes flickered to the gauge on the dashboard. Carter was right. They'd be lucky to get as far as Gardheim, let alone to Hammelburg.

"Well, what else can we do?" he snapped. "Maybe if we can make it to Gardheim..." He broke off, then muttered something in his own language. Even if their remaining petrol lasted so far, without the appropriate documentation the chances of refuelling were almost non-existent.

"Is there no nearer crossing?" asked Schmidt.

"Just one, as far as I know. The one we crossed by on the way to Bernsdorf," replied LeBeau. "That road is under water now, too."

Schmidt didn't reply for a few moments. He looked at his granddaughter again, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

"There is a disused railway viaduct that runs from the ridge directly into Heiligen," he said suddenly. "I think we must be within a couple of miles of the rail line."

"Hey, that's right." Carter spoke with a little more energy. "We had that on our list, too, but some guy got in ahead of us. Tried to take out the regional express with a hand grenade, did some damage to one of the middle arches, and they had to close the line."

"He tried to blow up a train with a hand grenade?" LeBeau's voice wavered.

Carter sighed. "Not everyone's got as much of the good stuff as us, Louis. I guess he just made do with what he had handy."

"Ah. You are saboteurs, then," said the old man.

There was a pause, as both Carter and LeBeau realised they'd just given the game away. Then LeBeau replied, "We like to think of it as civil engineering... only in reverse."

A further silence ensued, before Josef Schmidt spoke again, hesitantly, almost as if he hoped they wouldn't hear him: "By any chance, do you know a man called Papa Bear?"

The car swerved slightly as LeBeau turned his head. Carter, on the brink of an astonished exclamation, uttered instead a noise halfway between a gasp and a squeak of alarm.

It was only a momentary fright, as LeBeau quickly got the steering under control again. But it was time questions were asked. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, and stopped the motor.

"What do you know about Papa Bear?" he demanded, turning around in his seat to look at the man behind him.

Schmidt shrank away, his arm tightening around his granddaughter's shoulders. "I was told – we need help, I was given the name of someone in Hammelburg who could put me in contact with Papa Bear."

LeBeau glanced at Carter, who gazed back with a troubled expression. Right now they didn't need any extra complications. "Who told you?" asked LeBeau after a few seconds.

"A friend, in Bernsdorf. I can't tell you his name."

"He didn't clear it with anyone first?"

"It all happened so fast," explained the old man. "We thought we would have plenty of time, but my friend called me this afternoon - I mean, yesterday afternoon. We had agreed on a code word that would mean the Gestapo..." His voice faltered into a distressed silence.

LeBeau's forehead tightened. "Who's the contact in Hammelburg?" he asked after a pause

Schmidt hesitated again, briefly. "The owner of a cafe in Lindenstraβe." That fitted; there was an Underground safe house there.

Once again, LeBeau looked at Carter. This was tricky. The man could be genuine, in which case it would simplify things enormously to just take him straight back to Stalag 13. But taking anyone on trust was dangerous.

"What's your real name?" asked LeBeau.

"Zauner. Friedrich Zauner. I have a medical practice in Petschen, just north of Bernsdorf."

"And why are you on the run from the Gestapo?"

"Not me." The old man's eyes were on the sleeping girl. "It's Irma. The Gestapo are looking for Irma."


	9. Chapter 9

A golden autumn, that's what they called it.

Summer was going out gloriously, in a series of bright, chilly mornings, each of which blossomed into a gentle warmth of sunshine, then faded through the orange and red of sunset into night as cool and brittle as glass. It was too easy to forget the whole world was at war; especially at the age of thirteen, no longer a little girl, but not quite ready yet to give up being a child occasionally. And in the woods, with a scatter of fallen leaves underfoot, racing with her two best friends, Irma had forgotten everything except how much fun it was, when she didn't have to behave like a young lady.

They were meant to be looking for blackberries, but that was something else they'd all forgotten.

After a while they stopped to rest. Ursula, a little younger than the other two, and not quite so strong, sat with her back against a tree trunk, breathless from trying to keep up, while Irma and Gretchen preferred the warmth of a small patch of sunlight. They talked for a while, about school, about how boring the last _Jungmädel_ meeting was, and about that boy they all rather fancied; because at the turning point between childhood and adolescence, boys start to become the main topic of conversation, and the things about them that were so annoying a short time ago turn into an endless source of fascination.

Irma said she didn't like him. She was fibbing; and Gretchen and Ursula knew it, and giggled.

Presently they fell silent, as the heat of the afternoon made them drowsy. Gretchen actually dozed off, while Ursula idly turned over the autumn leaves, looking for acorns. Irma leaned back, watching the clouds overhead, listening to the sounds of the forest, half-dreaming.

Then another sound reached her. It seemed so out of place that for a moment she couldn't place it; the low rattling rumble of a truck motor approaching, then dropping in pitch as it passed by. Gretchen raised her head, woken by the noise, and Irma scrambled to her feet, and crept towards where the sound had come from.

They hadn't realised it, but there was a road just beyond the trees; or rather, a kind of track, unsealed and muddy, just wide enough for a truck to pass. As Irma watched, and as her friends came to join her, a second lorry came into sight, following the first. An army truck, slow-moving and apparently heavily laden.

The sensible thing for the girls to do would be to retreat, as silently as they had come. But who was ever sensible at thirteen? Not one of them even thought of it; by unspoken mutual consent they followed in the direction the trucks had gone.

They had never explored this part of the woods before, so they'd never realised there was a tunnel - an old mine, perhaps, or some long-abandoned engineering project - drilled into the face of the escarpment which cut through the southern end of the forest. This was where the road ended, and where the trucks were delivering their contents; wooden crates and boxes, of various shapes and sizes, were being unloaded by men in SS uniform, under the eye of a man in civilian clothes, although something in his bearing suggested he was no civilian. He was a thin, rat-faced individual, unfamiliar to Irma and her friends, but the older man standing beside him, fidgeting nervously, was well-known around town. Irma had once heard her father say that Albert Heissen would cheerfully sell his grandmother's grave to the highest bidder.

He didn't look so cheerful now, but that might have been something to do with his company.

Irma felt Ursula's hand gripping hers. They knew already they'd stumbled across something they were not meant to see. But they couldn't move, in case anyone heard them. If they kept still, if they kept quiet, maybe they wouldn't be noticed.

Then one of the men dropped his end of the crate he was helping to unload. It fell heavily against the tailgate, and broke open. From where they were, the girls couldn't see what was inside. But Heissen could; and the unknown man knew it.

For several seconds the two men stared at each other. Then the stranger turned to one of the soldiers, nodded curtly, and turned away.

None of the three girls would ever be able to remember which of them it was who screamed, when the SS shot Albert Heissen. But it was Irma who realised that they had to get away from here, as fast as they could. And so she did, still clutching Ursula's hand as they ran back through the woods, and trusting Gretchen to keep up; instinctively staying out of sight among the trees.

Even long after any pursuit had been lost, they still kept running.

* * *

"It was days before Irma told her father what had happened." Dr Zauner gently brushed back a loose strand of long hair from Irma's face; she didn't even stir. "Heissen's body had been found, but it was assumed that one of his business deals had gone wrong. In a way, I suppose it did."

"Gosh, that's just awful," murmured Carter. "Those poor little girls." He was shivering again; it was getting colder as the night wore on.

"It affected Irma very badly," said the doctor. "Her parents - my daughter and her husband - thought it best to send her to stay with me for a few days, to get her away from where it happened. And then, about a week later, the Gestapo turned up in the village, asking questions about Heissen. It seemed prudent to leave Irma with me until things died down. Only they haven't, even after half a year." He paused for a moment. "The SS were hiding something there. Whatever it was, they had no hesitation in killing Heissen to keep it quiet. One of Irma's friends has since died, with her family, during a bombing raid. But no other houses were hit, and nobody heard the planes. The other girl was taken away, for her own protection, they said. But..."

LeBeau remained silent. His sympathies were all with the doctor, but someone in Bernsdorf had broken the rules. The "Travellers' Aid" part of the operation wasn't meant to cover situations like this; the cost, and the risks involved, not only for the Stalag 13 personnel but for all the Underground agents who provided assistance and shelter along the way, meant that they had to restrict their operations to those who had something to contribute to the war effort: Allied servicemen, informants and agents whose cover had been compromised. They had no provision for ordinary German citizens who wanted out, no matter how desperate their need might be. Besides, these people hadn't been checked out yet.

"You know someone in the Bernsdorf Underground?" he asked eventually.

"I have helped them, now and then, when someone has been injured," replied Zauner.

Well, at least that was something. It would be up to Hogan to decide whether it was enough.

"_Ça va_," said LeBeau. "We'll try to get you to Hammelburg." As he started the car again, he glanced at Carter, trying to send a silent warning to say nothing yet about their own connections; but Carter, hunched up in his heavy topcoat, was looking out of the window at the rain, which had finally eased off into a slow drizzle.

"You okay?" murmured LeBeau. Carter either didn't hear him, or chose not to reply.

It took about fifteen minutes to reach the railway line, on the main road along the ridge, and nobody spoke during that time. LeBeau brought the car to a stop.

"Are you sure the bridge is still standing?" he asked.

Carter shook his head. "It's supposed to be. It's solid stone, and the guy only had one hand grenade. And even that was leftover from the first war. The bridge won't take the weight of a whole train, unless they've fixed it up since then. But it should be okay for a car to get across." After a moment of thought, he added, "Guess we better do something about it, some time."

"It's probably just as well we didn't already," replied LeBeau, as he put the car in motion, and turned off the road to follow the railway line.

* * *

_Jungmädel: _the Young Girls' League was part of the _Bund Deutscher Mädel _(BDM or League of German Girls), which operated within the Hitler Youth. Irma, Gretchen and Ursula would have been in the _Jungmädel_ until they reached the age of 14, when they would move to the BDM.


	10. Chapter 10

The hotel known as _Die Sonne_ would have been hard to overlook. It occupied a prominent position in the town square, opposite the town hall; it was significantly larger than the neighbouring _Apostelkirche_; it had a wonderful hanging sign of magnificent proportions and vaguely mediaeval appearance; and in case anyone missed seeing that, there was a huge, lazily smiling sun-face painted in dark gold on the pale yellow of its front wall. In spite of in the very limited light available, that wasn't something even a casual observer would miss.

"You think that's the place, Schultz?" asked Hogan, as he pulled the truck over to the side of the square.

"I don't get it," murmured Schultz. "I thought you wanted to look for LeBeau and Carter. So why are we stopping at the hotel?"

"I already explained that, Schultz," said Hogan patiently. "Look, we have to get across the river, right?"

"Right."

"And the bridge at Gardheim is too far away. Right?"

"Right."

"So what we need to do is ask around Heiligen and see if we can get hold of a boat. Right?"

"Right...a boat? Wait - w-w-wait a minute, Colonel Hogan, you never said anything about a boat." Schultz's face couldn't be seen clearly, but his voice teetered on the brink of a girlish squeak. "Please, Colonel Hogan, I do not go in boats. I am no good in boats. If I wanted to be a sailor, I would have joined the navy."

"Well, you joined the _Luftwaffe_, but we never see you going anywhere by plane," observed Kinch from behind them.

"Okay, Schultz, you don't have to go in a boat," said Hogan, adopting a reassuringly paternal tone. He waited for a few seconds, then added, "You can stay at the hotel, and _we'll_ go by boat."

Schultz heaved a sigh of relief. "As long as I don't have to..._you'll_ go by boat? No, Colonel Hogan, please, I can not let you out of my sight."

"Well, you just said you didn't want to go in a boat, Schultz. Make up your mind, we can't sit around all night. And if you come with me and Kinch, who's going to stay at the hotel and keep an eye on Newkirk? We can't take him with us."

"Not without waking him up, anyway," added Kinch, with a glance at Newkirk, who lay still and quiet under Langenscheidt's coat. With Hogan there to take charge, he had been able to give in to the weariness which was weighing down on him; he was well and truly out of it.

"And you wouldn't want to wake him, would you, Schultz?" concluded Hogan. "So what choice do you have?"

"I could...well, maybe if I...no, I think I should..." Schultz's voice got lower with each idea he thought of and rejected.

"It's simple, Schultz. Someone has to stay and guard Newkirk, but someone has to go searching for the other two. Now, either me and Kinch go, and you stay in the hotel where it's warm and comfortable; or we'll stay, and you can go."

"In the rain, and the floods. By boat," added Kinch.

Schultz uttered a low whine. "Why did I let you come along? You always get me into trouble."

"Well, that's gratitude for you." Hogan, deeply offended, hunched his shoulders. "Here we are, trying to help out..."

"We're even willing to do the hard part," added Kinch.

"And all you do is complain." Hogan folded his arms, and adopted an air of wounded dignity.

"You know, it would serve him right if we left him to do the whole job on his own," said Kinch, regarding Schultz with a sternly disapproving eye. "But I guess he's under some pressure. You know how it is, Colonel. If Klink finds out about all this, Schultz is looking at a one-way ticket, heading east. Maybe we should make allowances."

Hogan scowled as he considered whether he felt like accepting this advice. But Schultz's mind had seized on the alternative Kinch had just outlined, and he didn't seem to find any merit in it. He had to shift his ground.

"Please, Colonel Hogan," he mumbled, "I know I should not allow you to do this, but...but would you perhaps be able to...I mean..." He trailed off into a miserable silence.

"All right, Schultz," said Hogan at last. "I'll overlook your little temper tantrum, this time. But you have to let me do things my way. Agreed?"

"Agreed," sighed Schultz.

"Good. Now, you wait here with Kinch and Newkirk, and I'll go inside and see if there's a room available."

Schultz ventured a mild disagreement. "Would it not be better if I went? After all, I am a German soldier, and you are..."

"A German captain, Schultz. And they're more likely to oblige an officer than a sergeant, right?" Hogan pulled up his collar against the continuing rain, and got out before Schultz could renew his objections; and a few quick steps brought him inside the hotel.

The lobby was surprisingly small, and only dimly lit. It had a cosy, old-fashioned atmosphere; the walls were lime-washed a creamy yellow, and the watercolour landscapes and sepia-tinted photographs which adorned them looked as if they would not be out of place in any middle-class family home. The rugs scattered across the floor were not new, and none of them matched; and the armchairs had obviously been selected for comfort rather than elegance.

Hogan waited for half a minute, taking in the details, before he approached the reception counter and rang the bell. Another thirty seconds passed, and he began to wonder if anyone was here.

Then someone emerged from the back room behind the counter. Hogan slipped easily into his standard portrayal of a German officer: efficient, confident, good-humoured, ready to exchange a few pleasantries with his fellow man, and a little more with the right woman. He wasn't sure this particular woman was going to respond, which was a pity. The plain black dress she wore, and the severity with which her dark hair was drawn back from her face took nothing away; she was one of those naturally beautiful women who seem unaware of their own beauty.

"Can I help you, _Herr Hauptmann_?" Her voice was soft and low in pitch, with a fascinating tendency to hesitate over some consonants.

"I hope so," said Hogan. "Captain Gruber, Luftstalag 13. I'm on my way back there, but we seem to have run into some problems. Is there any chance we might be able to stop here for a couple of hours, until the situation is a little clearer?"

"Luftstalag 13 - that's near Hammelburg?" She tilted her head slightly. "I believe the Hammelburg road is not yet affected by the flooding."

"That's not what we were told. They're setting up road blocks." Hogan gazed at her keenly. She seemed intelligent; that could be a problem, if it turned out she wasn't on their side. "Anyway, I don't care to take the chance. One of my men is already injured."

She pursed her lips, regarding him with a slight frown as if trying to read behind his outward expression. "There is a risk the town will be cut off, or even flooded. Many people have already left."

"You haven't?"

"No."

She didn't choose to explain, but it was clear she didn't want him here. He didn't have time to waste in dodging around the issue; God alone knew what kind of trouble LeBeau and Carter might be getting into. It went against the grain, but he was going to have to take a chance, and identify himself at once. He glanced around the lobby; they were still alone, as far as he could tell. Still, he felt unusually tight in the stomach as he spoke again: "My uncle has a wooden leg."

For a moment, the woman looked blank. Then she blinked. "My aunt has two parakeets," she replied. There was a momentary pause, before they both breathed a sigh of relief.

"You are from Stalag 13?" the woman went on. "Then you must be...is it Papa Bear? I know of you, from our contacts in Hammelburg. My name is Stadler, Gisela Stadler."

"Colonel Hogan. Sorry to drop in on you unannounced, but I've got a real problem on my hands."

Gisela Stadler nodded slowly. "The situation is difficult," she said. "Forgive me for my poor manners. I am expecting some of our people any minute. They have had to evacuate, and they are bringing their radio and whatever supplies they can manage to be stored here until other arrangements can be made. So when you arrived, in that uniform, I had to..."

"Get rid of me, fast." Hogan finished the sentence.

"Exactly." She took a deep breath. "You will understand, we have a lot to deal with at the moment. But if you need any help, I will do what I can."

"I'd appreciate it. Mostly what I need is information," said Hogan. "I had three men on their way to Bernsdorf last night. We've found one of them, the other two are stranded on the north side of the river, and we're not sure where they are."

"That is a problem," murmured Gisela. "I don't think there's any safe crossing closer than Gardheim."

"That's what I heard, too. But I'm hoping it's wrong." Hogan put his hands on the counter, fingers splayed out, pressing down with unconscious determination. "Because I'm not giving up on my men. One way or another, I'm going to find them."


	11. Chapter 11

The rail line really tested the staff car's suspension.

The vehicle was too wide to allow LeBeau to drive between the rails. There was a service road running alongside, but it had obviously been neglected, and the woods had encroached, leaving only a narrow track. This made it necessary for the wheels on the driver's side to run inside the rails, producing a rhythmic juddering on that side as they bumped over the sleepers. On the other side, the tyres jolted over protruding tree roots, and in and out of deep, water-filled holes. The effect was not unlike flying through heavy turbulence in a small plane.

Irma woke with a start and had to be soothed into relative calmness by her grandfather. The wing mirror fell off, and was left behind. Shortly afterwards, the rear-view mirror came away, too; Carter fielded it neatly, only to have it fly from his grasp at the next bump.

"Sorry," he muttered.

LeBeau glared at him. "Did it break?"

"Uh...yeah, it did, a bit." Carter's voice wobbled as the car gave another lurch; and Irma squealed, and clutched Zauner's arm to save herself from falling off the seat.

"At this rate, the car will fall apart before we even reach the bridge," growled LeBeau.

Carter started to speak, then thought better of it. Reaction was setting in; LeBeau was growing snappish, which caused Carter to retreat into an uncharacteristic silence. This in turn sharpened LeBeau's irritation. He knew it wasn't Carter's fault; but he was starting to feel like he had to take it out on someone, or burst, and Carter was the only available target.

He drew a deep breath, tightened his grip on the steering wheel and concentrated on trying to miss the worst of the obstructions ahead.

At last the forest opened out, and the viaduct came into sight. LeBeau brought the car to a halt. For a few moments he sat in silence, before getting out and walking towards the bridge. After a minute or so, Carter followed him.

The viaduct curved out across the valley, supported above the inundated floodplain by a series of stone arches. From where they stood it looked almost endless, although it was probably not much more than a mile; the valley was narrow here.

"No parapet," said LeBeau quietly, "and it's pretty narrow."

"Nearly twenty feet. That's plenty wide enough." Carter tilted his head to one side. "Can't see from here which is the arch that got blown up, but the edge might be a bit weak there." He broke off with a cough and a sniffle.

LeBeau didn't pay any attention. "Those girls saw something they weren't supposed to," he said. "What do you suppose the SS were up to?"

"Don't know," replied Carter. "But whatever it was, they sure didn't want anyone to know about it. You may not have thought about it, but I bet they blew up that family."

"I thought of it, Carter," LeBeau snapped back. "If it's so obvious that even you get it, nobody else is going to miss it."

Carter gave him a startled, wounded look, before he turned around and went back to the car. LeBeau followed, furious with himself for his momentary lack of control.

The going was easier once they were on the viaduct. Mindful of the possibility of going into a slide on the wet surface, LeBeau continued with caution, still with one set of wheels on each side of the rail; it was uneven, but not nearly as bad as the access road had been.

Carter kept watch for any signs of collapse in the stonework at the edge of the structure. He hadn't said another word; whether he was offended, or feared another outburst, LeBeau wasn't sure. He knew he owed Carter an apology, but now wasn't the time for it.

Below them the valley was in darkness; only an occasional glimmer gave evidence of the water extending across the floodplain. The sky above remained shrouded, with a faint veining of light to indicate how low the moon had descended. The rain had lightened, as if the clouds had finally started to run dry.

It was eerie, like the car was somehow suspended without any support between heaven and earth. Irma had shuffled over to peer out of the window nearest the edge, with one hand splayed out flat against the glass. Without realising it, her grandfather was holding on to her arm, irrationally fearful she would fall if he let go.

LeBeau didn't like it. He felt too exposed out here. But he didn't dare go faster, in case the structure beneath them suddenly collapsed.

"Any signs of damage?" he asked, when they were about halfway across.

"Can't see anything." Carter squinted out, then opened the window. "Go a bit slower," he added, and leaned out for a better view. After half a minute, he drew back in. "Looks like they've been repairing it. It's pretty dark down there, but there's some scaffolding and stuff. I think we're past the worst bit."

LeBeau nodded, and allowed the car to pick up speed; and they reached the other side without incident.

The access road alongside the line here was in much better shape than on the northern side of the valley, but the ride was still fairly rough, and not just because the unsealed surface below had turned to a thin slurry of mud. After a little way, Carter ventured an opinion: "I think maybe something broke loose underneath, Louis."

"I know," snapped LeBeau. "What do you want me to do about it?" Carter didn't dare reply.

It took another ten minutes to reach the point where the rail line crossed the main road between Heiligen and Hammelburg. By that time it was obvious something was amiss, from the way the steering was pulling to the left. LeBeau drove onto the verge, and stopped the motor. He didn't say a word; just leaned across in front of Carter to rummage in the glove compartment for a flashlight, then flung the door open and got out.

He was tired, and cold, his head was aching, and he'd just lost one of the closest friends he'd ever had. He didn't want to have to deal with anything more; but he didn't have a choice. He went round to the trunk to find the tool kit.

Carter had dismounted as well. "Maybe I should get under the car," he suggested diffidently. "You don't look so good."

He stood awkwardly, unconsciously wriggling his shoulders, then stretching his arms; his overstrained muscles had seized up during the long, cold drive. LeBeau shook his head. "You keep watch," he replied curtly, and crawled under the car.

It didn't take him long to find the problem; one of the leaf springs had apparently struck some obstruction, and was out of alignment. It wasn't something he could fix on the side of the road, but if he drove carefully it would get them home safely.

With a muffled groan he rolled over, and scrambled back out from underneath. "It's the suspension," he told Carter. "Can't do anything about it now."

"You want me to drive?" said Carter.

LeBeau got back behind the wheel, without answering. Carter sighed, opened the passenger door, but hesitated.

"Uh, Louis...I need to...go for a walk," he muttered, glancing at Irma, clearly ill at ease.

"Now is not the time, Carter," replied LeBeau irritably, failing at first to take in what Carter was actually getting at.

"Well, actually, it kind of is," Carter faltered. Then, lowering his voice, he added, "I swallowed an awful lot of water, back there."

"What's that got to do with...oh." LeBeau rolled his eyes as the penny dropped. "You can't wait till we get to town?"

"I don't think so."

"All right. Be quick, and don't go far."

Without another word, Carter headed off into the woods. There was a moment of embarrassed silence, which ended when Irma leaned towards her grandfather and whispered in his ear. Zauner regarded her with mild exasperation, then turned to LeBeau. "I'm afraid Irma also needs..." he began.

"Fine," growled LeBeau. "But stay close, okay?" Irma nodded, before sliding out of the car and running after Carter.

"I'm sorry," said Zauner. "All this must be an inconvenience to you."

"An inconvenience. You could call it that." It wasn't the word LeBeau would have chosen; the loss of Newkirk called for something more emphatic. He flung the door open, and got out again. Zauner also alighted, stiffly, and LeBeau felt another pang of contrition. Carter wasn't the only one who was suffering from the night's exertions. The doctor seemed fit for his age, but still his age would tell against him in a situation like this. He could not have had any idea what lay ahead when he set off for Hammelburg to bring his granddaughter to safety.

LeBeau rubbed his eyes as a few fine droplets of rain blurred his vision. He glanced at the doctor, opened his lips to speak, then stopped as a glow of light further down the road resolved into the headlights of an approaching vehicle. It slowed as it got closer, and drew to a halt behind the Stalag 13 car. The lights were too bright for LeBeau to make out any details; but the man who got out and came towards them proved to be an SS corporal.

"_Alles in Ordnung_?" he asked brusquely.

LeBeau and Zauner glanced at each other. "Just a little problem with the suspension," replied LeBeau. "It's not too bad."

The man glanced at the car, noticing the thick accumulation of mud around the lower panels and wheel arches. "Do you need any help?"

"No, it's okay. We can manage." LeBeau had started to perspire.

"There is a flood warning for this road," the corporal went on. "You should move on quickly before you are cut off."

"We will certainly do that," said LeBeau.

"_Ein Moment, bitte_." Another man had left the car, and now stood looking at them. This one, also SS, was a full colonel, and instinctively LeBeau came to attention.

The colonel nodded. "At ease." His eyes went from the diminutive LeBeau to the elderly Zauner, still wearing Newkirk's overcoat, and a smile crossed his thin, sharp-featured face. "You are Luftwaffe, no?"

"_Jawohl, Herr Standartenführer_," LeBeau snapped out, in his best German. "From Luftstalag 13," he added. If the colonel was wondering at a man of Zauner's years serving in the military, that would set his mind at rest; half the guards at Stalag 13 were too old for combat duty.

"That is near Hammelburg, isn't it? And you would be on your way there now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I am also driving to Hammelburg," said the colonel. "I will be pleased to follow you on the road, in case you have further trouble."

It was the last thing LeBeau wanted. "We wouldn't want to put you to any trouble..." he began.

"No trouble," the colonel interrupted. "It's on my way." He turned to go back to his car, then paused. "By the way," he said, "we are trying to locate someone who may be travelling on this road. An elderly man, and a young girl. You haven't seen anyone...?"

"Nobody at all, sir," said LeBeau quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, he'd just spotted Carter and Irma emerging from the trees. He didn't dare make any sign, but Carter took in the situation at a glance, and vanished again, taking Irma with him.

The colonel shrugged. "Ah, well, I'm sure we'll catch up with them. Drive on." He returned to his vehicle.

As LeBeau hesitated, the corporal jerked his head towards the car. "Did you not hear? Drive on. Colonel Jäger doesn't like to be kept waiting."

LeBeau sent one desperate look towards the woods. Then he turned to Zauner. "Get in," he hissed.

"We're not going to leave them?" the doctor stammered, utterly taken aback.

"You'd rather the SS found her? We're no more than a couple of miles from Heiligen. As soon as we get there, we'll find an excuse, ditch these guys, and come back for them," LeBeau whispered fiercely. "She's safe with Carter."

At least, so he hoped, as he looked out at the scattered raindrops still misting the windscreen. This place was not so far from the river. He'd made what he believed was the best decision. But if he'd chosen wrongly, Carter and Irma would be the ones facing the consequences.


	12. Chapter 12

Crouched behind a cluster of low bushes, which released a shower of drips at the slightest touch, Carter held his breath as he watched the men in the road. Irma huddled next to him, gripping his arm, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. He could hear the little catches in her breathing, but he didn't dare try to reassure her, in case the SS colonel or any of his men heard them.

The last thing Newkirk had said to him was, _take care of that lass_. Somehow, by instinct as much as reason, Carter knew it would be best achieved by keeping her out of the way of the SS. They'd got to her friends; they weren't getting her, too. So he moved slightly, just enough to put his arm around her in a protective hug, but he didn't make a sound, and he kept his eyes on LeBeau.

He wasn't close enough to hear what was being said, but his heart gave a lurch, as he saw LeBeau and Zauner get into the staff car and drive off, with the SS following. For a few panic-stricken seconds, he wondered if they'd been arrested, before common sense reasserted itself. LeBeau and the doctor had gone in their own car, unaccompanied. If there was trouble, they'd have been taken in the other vehicle, under guard.

Still, Carter couldn't figure it out, as he watched the two cars disappeared in the direction of the town. It didn't make sense. Louis would never just go off and leave him like this. He remained where he was for a couple of minutes, trying to understand what had just happened.

Then he realised Irma was crying, her whole body shaking with the violence of it although hardly a sound escaped her. He tightened his hold on her. "Okay," he whispered. "They've gone."

She scarcely seemed to hear him. Uneasily, he wondered what he was supposed to do, if she got hysterical. He had no experience with this sort of stuff; none of the girls he knew back home ever got into a state like this. Well, of course, they didn't have any reason to, did they?

"Don't cry like that," he faltered, deeply embarrassed. "It'll be okay. LeBeau's coming back for us, real soon, once he's gotten rid of those other guys."

As soon as he'd said it, he knew it was true. Of course Louis hadn't abandoned them; he was just getting the SS off their track. A flood of relief swept across him, leaving him shaking with the reaction. LeBeau would come back, if it was at all possible.

Irma made a brave attempt to control herself. She dragged the back of her hand across her eyes, and sniffed. Carter pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. It was too dark to see, but the stiffness and slightly sticky feel of it reminded him of the horrible state it was in, thanks to the nosebleed he'd suffered a few hours earlier. He shoved it back. She'd be better off wiping her nose on her sleeve.

In fact that was exactly what she was doing. Then she gave her eyes another determined scrub. "Please, I am sorry," she whispered.

"You got nothing to say sorry for," replied Carter quickly. "Gosh, when I think of all the things that happened tonight - you know what? You're about the bravest little girl I ever saw."

"I'm not a little girl now." Irma's tone grew firmer, and she lifted her chin. "I'm fourteen, that's almost grown up." But she finished with another little hiccoughing sob, and she still clung to him, as if he were the only safe anchor point left in the whole world.

"Well, gee, I wouldn't blame you for being scared," said Carter. "You know something? Whenever I see any guys from the SS, I get so scared, I feel just about sick. But it's like what they always used to tell us at school, in case we saw any snakes. If we don't bother them, there's no reason they should bother us, right?"

Irma looked up at him, her lower lip trembling with agitation. "That man - the one in the back of the car."

"You mean the guy in charge? The officer?"

She nodded, blinking, and after a couple of false starts, she managed to get the words out. "I saw him once before."

Carter gazed at her, unable to grasp her meaning for a moment. Then he gave his head a quick shake to try to clear it. "Your grandpa told us about something that happened last year," he said slowly, trying to keep his voice calm.

"He was there," she replied, her voice breaking in the middle. "He was the man who..."

"Okay, I get it." Carter interrupted before she finished. He was pretty sure going back over those memories right now would do her no good at all. But he understood. The SS colonel who was following LeBeau and Zauner was the same man who, all that time ago, had ordered a man to be shot for seeing something he wasn't meant to. And Irma was the only remaining witness to that criminal act.

Zauner had said the Gestapo were on the hunt for his granddaughter. Maybe he was mistaken. Or maybe the SS were searching for Irma, too.

_LeBeau better get back here, real fast_, Carter thought desperately.

"Okay, here's what we'll do," he said, after thinking it through. "We better wait here for now, so LeBeau knows where to find us. But it might take him a little while, seeing as he's gotta lose the SS. So if he's not back in half an hour, we'll start walking."

"But I'm tired," sniffled Irma. "And it's cold and wet out here. And dark."

"Well, I can't do much about that," Carter pointed out. He managed not to sound irritable; after all, she was just a kid. But for Pete's sake, it was just as cold and dark for him.

He took her by the hand and led her over to a fallen tree trunk which lay in a little cleared space within sight of the road. It was moss-covered and possibly rotten, but if it was strong enough, it would be drier than sitting on the ground. It seemed fairly sound once he got a closer look.

"Here, put this on," he murmured, taking off his topcoat and wrapping it round her shoulders, to protect her a little from the damp. Then he sat next to her, put his arm around her, and let her lean against him.

They sat in silence for some time; in fact Irma fell asleep. Carter couldn't. The silence of the woods, the shifting, inconstant quality of the darkness, the presence, felt rather than heard, of water nearby, all combined to set his nerves jumping. He drifted gradually into a half-waking state, where the night's events kept replaying over and over in his mind. And every time he got to the point where he lost sight of Newkirk, his throat tightened till he almost couldn't breathe. He tried to dismiss it by thinking about how he was going to get Irma safely back to base, if LeBeau didn't make it back; but his thoughts kept turning back to that same moment in time.

If only he had gone instead of Newkirk, the second time...but it was too late now.

It was rather more than half an hour before he roused himself from his unhappy reverie. He was chilled through, and his first attempt to move sent a fierce wave of pain through his shoulders and upper arms. Something between a gasp and a half-suppressed yelp escaped him, and Irma woke with a startled cry.

"It's all right," Carter told her. "I just stiffened up a little. It looks like LeBeau's been held up. I'm sure they're both okay," he went on quickly, as Irma looked up at him. "But we should start walking. It's probably better for us anyway. It isn't healthy, sitting round in this kind of weather."

He was shivering, but it didn't occur to him to ask for his coat back, nor to Irma to offer. She took hold of his arm again, and they started off in the direction of the town.

At first Carter kept a little way off the road. But no traffic passed them, and the boggy ground under the trees made the going harder than either of them liked. Before long Irma was lagging, weighing down on Carter's arm in a manner which strained his muscles even further; and gradually, almost without realising it, they drifted back onto the easier surface on the edge of the road.

They were both tired out. Perhaps that was why even Carter failed to notice the approach of a vehicle on the road behind them, until the horn sounded from close by. Irma gave a little shriek, and yanked on Carter's arm again.

He spun round, his heart racing.

The car drew up onto the verge, its headlights capturing them as effectively as the spotlights back at Stalag 13. Carter straightened up, squinting against the glare.

"Stay calm," he muttered to Irma, who was tugging his arm, trying to get him off the road. "They've already seen us. Just keep quiet, and let me do the talking." He took her hand, and put on a tight, nervous smile.

The driver got out and approached them. Although the car appeared private rather than military, he was wearing the uniform of an Army major.

"_Kann ich_ _Ihnen helfen_?" he asked briskly.

"Uh...that is most kind," replied Carter, dropping into his all-purpose German character. "My...my sister and I were on our way to - to Hammelburg, and we had to leave our car because of the flood."

It was difficult to tell, because of the headlights, but he was pretty sure there was nobody else in the car. That could be a lucky break.

"That is most unfortunate," said the major. "Please, allow me to drive you at least to Heiligen. Oh, you poor child," he added, without thinking, as he caught sight of Irma, half-hidden behind her protector. "This is no fit place for such a young girl. I am on my way home, you must let me take you there. We will be most happy to offer you shelter until transport can be arranged for you."

Carter blinked, and looked around. "Uh...we don't want to put you to any trouble..." he began, trying to think of a way out of it.

"Believe me, it's no trouble. In times such as these, we must help each other, no? Please," the major added quickly, "I must insist. How could I go home and tell my wife I had left someone out here, in such awful weather, and with the river still rising?"

There didn't seem to be any escape. The man seemed well-meaning, anyway, and at least it would get them as far as Heiligen. Carter had no idea what he'd do, once they got that far, nor any hope of getting in touch with LeBeau; but perhaps he might be able to contact Stalag 13 and let them know what was going on. They might even be able to make a break for it once they were safely in town.

He tightened his grip on Irma's hand, and took a deep breath. "Thank you, _Herr Major_," he replied. "I don't see how we can refuse."


	13. Chapter 13

The owner of the hotel _Die Sonne _seemed a sensible woman. She listened carefully to Hogan's explanation of the situation as he understood it, and accepted the necessity of Schultz with only a brief hesitation. "We have just such a man at the garrison near here," she remarked. "He's very useful, but sometimes he gets in the way a little."

"Exactly," agreed Hogan. "Same with Schultz. We couldn't run our operation without him, but every so often...let's put it this way, I'd rather he doesn't know you're on our side. So he'll need to think that you think we're on their side...if that makes sense."

"I think I understand," said Gisela Stadler, after a moment's thought. "What shall I call you?"

"Captain Gruber, Stalag 13. At your service, ma'am." He gave a very correct bow, and a very warm smile, which she tried not to return.

"It's a pleasure, Captain," she murmured primly.

For a few seconds, they looked at each other, mutually acknowledging the preposterous lengths they were obliged to go to in order to win this war. Hogan was the first to return to the business at hand.

"Okay, let's get things moving," he said. "I'd like to get Newkirk - I mean, Langenscheidt - out of the truck, and into somewhere dry."

"The best thing would be to bring him into my own rooms, on the ground floor behind the reception desk," replied Gisela. "If you need to get him out in a hurry, you won't want to bring him down the stairs."

"Good thinking. As for Schultz, if you settle him in a comfortable chair, and give him a beer, I can guarantee he'll be asleep inside ten minutes."

Gisela's smile finally broke the surface. "I think I can manage that. I've done the same often enough for Sergeant Bauer."

Hogan went back out to the truck. "Okay, Schultz, they've agreed to take us in," he said, and Schultz heaved a sigh. "But be careful what you say," Hogan went on quickly. "The owner thinks we're genuine Luftwaffe. So remember, I'm Gruber, Newkirk is Langenscheidt."

"What about me, Colonel?" asked Kinch, leaning over the tailgate. "I mean, I can do a pretty convincing Burkhalter, on the phone, but I don't see them falling for it in person."

Schultz closed his eyes, and rocked back and forth on his heels. "Please, Kinch," he whimpered, "don't talk about such things when I can hear you. If you have been pretending to be General Burkhalter on the phone, then that is something about which it's better if I know nothing. _Nothing_."

Hogan ignored him, but grinned apologetically at his right-hand man. "Sorry, Kinch, I guess you'll have to wait in the truck. Again." His eyes went past Kinch, to the recumbent Newkirk. "How's he doing?"

"Seems to be coming out of it," replied Kinch. He moved back, and leaned over the sleeping man. "Newkirk? You awake?"

Newkirk uttered an irritable, inarticulate growl, and made a feeble attempt to swat him away. Kinch chuckled. "Yeah, he's coming round, all right. Come on, buddy, let's get you out of here."

"Kinch...? Whassup...where...?" Newkirk's confused queries broke off in a sharp intake of breath, as Kinch put one arm underneath him and lifted him to a sitting position.

Hogan gave a quiet laugh. "Never at his brightest when he first wakes up, is he?"

Between them, they got Newkirk safely out of the truck. Schultz hung around them anxiously, getting in the way at every opportunity. "Schultz, give us some help here," said Hogan. "Kinch, stay out of sight, okay?"

Kinch nodded, and drew back into the interior, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to keep warm. Hogan gave him a quick glance, and jerked his head slightly, and Kinch responded with a wry smile. Once Schultz was settled, he'd be able to come in out of the cold. But for now they had to play it safe.

Gisela, waiting in the doorway, stepped aside as Hogan and Schultz manoeuvred up the steps with an unsteady Newkirk supported between them. As the entrance was too narrow to admit them three abreast, getting inside proved something of a challenge. "Schultz, I'm the officer," snapped Hogan irritably at last. "So I should lead the way."

Schultz grumbled under his breath, but yielded, and the trio made their entrance sideways, Hogan first, Schultz last.

"This way, please," said Gisela. Hidden laughter lurked in the depths of her eyes, and brought a little colour to her face. She led the way past the reception desk, to a small sitting room, where Newkirk was deposited onto a long, narrow couch. He remained half-propped up on his elbow, peering around with a worried frown.

"Where have we got to, Colonel?" he mumbled, looking up at Hogan, who with Gisela's help was spreading a blanket over him.

"I think you mean Captain," Schultz put in. "Isn't that right, _Captain Gruber_?" He finished with a heavy emphasis, and Hogan had to fight to suppress a grin.

Newkirk blinked and rubbed his eyes. "'Scuse me, sir," he said. "Seems I'm a bit confused. Did Schultz just say...?"

"Captain, that's right." Hogan allowed the grin to escape, as he met Newkirk's puzzled gaze; and after a few seconds, the mists cleared.

"Oh. Oh, yes, of course. Captain Gruber. Sorry, Captain, my head's all over the place right now." Newkirk gave his head a shake, as if trying to joggle his thoughts back into some kind of order.

"It certainly is. But that's understandable." Hogan turned to Schultz. "You know, I think what this man needs is to get some sleep. Schultz, why don't you go and wait in the lobby?"

"Perhaps the sergeant would care for a little refreshment," said Gisela. "If you'd care to come with me, Sergeant..."

Schultz resisted, though not very vigorously. "Maybe I should stay here, to keep my eye on Newkirk...I mean, Langenscheidt. That's his first name," he added, for Gisela's benefit. "Newkirk Langenscheidt. His mother was English. But we don't hold it against him. After all, my own mother came from Bremerhaven, but nobody blames me for that. And her mother was born in..."

"Schultz." Hogan interrupted what looked like extending into a full exposition of Schultz's genealogy. "He's probably already got a headache, you're not exactly helping. I think you can safely assume he's not going anywhere. And you know, you've really gone above and beyond the call of duty tonight. You deserve to take a break."

There was a pause, while Schultz considered, then embraced this much more comfortable point of view. "Yes, that's right. I deserve a break - and a little something to keep my strength up," he added, ever hopeful.

"I'm sure we can find something for you, sergeant," she replied. "Anything for our men in service, you know."

Schultz wavered for a few seconds longer. "You won't get up to any monkey business behind my back?" he said, making a last effort to adhere to duty.

"I promise," replied Hogan. "Hand on heart. What's the matter, Schultz? After all we've been through together, you still don't trust me?"

"That's hard, Schultz," added Newkirk, gazing at him blearily. "I thought you were a bigger man than that."

"Oh, I am a big man, no question." Schultz sighed. "And of course I trust you, Col - Captain." With great dignity, he trundled off in Gisela's wake.

Newkirk dropped back onto the cushions. "What do we do now, Colonel?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Simple," said Hogan. "You sleep off the rest of that stuff the doctor gave you, while me and Kinch go and find the boys."

"Just like that?" Newkirk gave a short laugh. "You know, sometimes when you say something like that, for a second I almost think you can pull it off. But, Colonel..."

"I know. Saying it's easy." Hogan folded his arms, and began pacing. "Doing it is a whole different ball game."

He stopped by the window, and looked out as if he expected to see LeBeau and Carter coming up the street. But it was too dark; all he could see was the room behind him, reflected in the glass.

Newkirk had gone quiet. He seemed be drifting off again, which was probably just as well; he needed all the rest he could get. Hogan stooped to adjust the blanket a little, then looked up as Gisela came back into the room.

"I took him into the coffee room, and went to fetch a glass of _Schnapps_ for him, to keep out the cold," she said. "He was already asleep when I got back."

"Well, that's a good start," murmured Hogan. He stayed looking down at Newkirk for a few moments longer. Then he straightened up, and resolutely got back down to business.

"I've been told the nearest safe river crossing at the moment is at Gardheim," he said. "I know the bridge between Hammelburg and Bernsdorf is closed, and the one east of here as well. Can you think of any other way for me to get across?"

She took her time over the question. "I'm afraid not," she replied at last. "You could try taking a boat - it would be easy enough to find one. But it would be dangerous under the present conditions, even for an experienced boatman..."

"...which we're not," added Hogan. "And even if we tried it, we'd have no means of transport once we got over there."

They both fell silent again, as they considered the problem. Gisela spoke first. "Perhaps my Underground colleagues may have some ideas, when they get here," she suggested. "Franz knows the area well, his family have lived here for generations. He has a farm, to the east of here. If anyone can help you, he can."

"I sure hope he can," murmured Hogan. But for once, his confidence was at a low ebb. This situation was beyond anything he'd ever had to deal with. He had no idea where to start looking for his missing men, and the entire landscape changed with every passing hour, as the river continued to rise. The only positive he could think of was, if he couldn't find them, it was unlikely Hochstetter would have better luck.

He wouldn't put the thought into words. But he lived every day with the knowledge that the next mission might be the one where some of his men didn't make it home; and he was starting to wonder if, for LeBeau and Carter, that day had arrived.


	14. Chapter 14

The two staff cars set no speed records as they rolled down the last stretch of road into Heiligen. By intention, LeBeau drove ever slower, and allowed the clutch to slip with each gear change. This resulted in a painfully juddering progress, accompanied by a series of excruciating grinding noises.

"Are you sure you should do that?" asked Zauner, wincing at a particularly horrible crunching sound from the gearbox. "It sounds as if it will break in two."

"That's what I want it to sound like," replied LeBeau, gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "We have lose the SS, so we can go back. If they think we've broken down, they'll leave us behind."

"_Ja schon, aber..._"

"Just trust me, I know what I'm doing," LeBeau snapped. He was getting prickly again, having realised how seriously he'd miscalculated when he'd estimated the distance to Heiligen, from where they'd left Carter and Irma. It had to be all of six miles of bad road; hardly anything under normal conditions, but as things were, it had taken a lot longer to get here than he'd anticipated. And they still had to get back before Carter lost his head and did something stupid.

The town lay in darkness, but as they approached the main square, the spire of the church could be made out against the sky. A glimmer of light showed from behind the curtains in the windows of the neighbouring hotel. LeBeau drew up, with a final screech of metal on metal, and got out.

Colonel Jäger's car stopped just behind. "_Was ist los_?" asked the driver, as LeBeau approached.

"Trouble with the gearbox," said LeBeau, grimacing. "It won't go much further." He glanced at the colonel, who was leaning forward to listen. "I don't think we should try to reach Hammelburg."

"What do you intend, then?" interjected Jäger.

LeBeau shrugged, casually. "There is a hotel over there. If they will let us use the telephone, I will call Stalag 13, let them know we are broken down in Heiligen. Then in the morning we will try to get the car repaired."

"We could take you as far as Hammelburg, if you wish." Jäger made the offer with obvious reluctance.

"Thank you, sir. But I don't care to leave the Kommandant's car. He's a little fussy about it," explained LeBeau, in a confidential manner. "In fact, the last guard who left the car unattended is now taking a crash course in driving through snow. So..." He didn't finish, just gave a nervous giggle.

Jäger treated the confidence with indifference. "Very well, as you wish."

LeBeau stepped back to let the car pull away, and watched the glimmer of the rear lights receding into the night, before he scuttled back to his own vehicle.

"See?" he said. "It's easy, if you just keep your head. Now we go back for them."

He turned the ignition as he spoke. The motor coughed, caught, then coughed again and fell silent. LeBeau's complacency died with it. He tried again, but the starter turned over to no purpose.

"What's wrong?" demanded Zauner after a few seconds.

LeBeau didn't answer at once. He was at a loss, until his eye fell on the petrol gauge. For a moment he just stared at it, then his shoulders fell. "Out of gas," he said softly. "Carter warned me, but I forgot. We've probably been running on nothing but the smell. Now there's not enough to get it started." He struck the wheel with the palm of his hand.

Zauner sighed. "Then they are on their own, and the flood is still rising." His voice suddenly sounded very old and weary. "I have let her down. I was meant to keep her safe."

His despair was enough to rouse LeBeau from his mental paralysis. "We can still help them," he snapped.

He got out of the car and looked around. "That truck there, outside the hotel," he said. "We'll take that."

"You mean, steal it?" stammered the doctor.

"It's not stealing. We're just going to borrow it for a while," replied LeBeau. "We'll bring it back...maybe."

He started across the square towards the little army truck parked at the door of the hotel. Zauner followed, halting but determined not to be left behind.

"Can you get it started?" he asked.

"Are you trying to insult me? Of course I can. We have just the same kind of trucks back at...I mean, I know them well," LeBeau finished.

He clambered into the driver's seat, and peered at the dashboard. "This will be easy. It's exactly the same as one of the trucks at home," he murmured.

"That's because it is one of the trucks from home."

Neither of them had realised there was someone in the back of the truck. Zauner, in the act of climbing into the cabin, dropped back, and LeBeau, instinctively clenching his fist, swivelled in his seat, and jammed his hip against the steering wheel. The exclamation which flew from his lips was very low French indeed; Zauner wasn't familiar with it. But the man in the back understood.

"Take it easy, LeBeau," he said, in a low, urgent hiss. "It's me."

"Kinch?" LeBeau couldn't move; he'd got wedged between the wheel and the back of the seat. But right now, he didn't care. "Kinch, _mais qu'est-ce que..._what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," replied Kinch.

With a stifled gasp, LeBeau dislodged himself, and leaned over the back of the seat to grab Kinch's arm. He tried to speak, but couldn't get a word out.

"It's okay, Louis. Colonel Hogan's in the hotel, with - "

LeBeau interrupted, as his momentary paralysis broke. "Kinch, we have to go. I left them on the side of the road - the SS were with us, I had to - _je te prie, _Kinch..."

"Okay, just calm down," Kinch broke in. He'd never seen LeBeau so close to incoherent. "Now, where's Carter?"

"I just told you - on the road, out of town. The car's out of gas, but I have to go back for them. Kinch - " Again, for a few seconds, LeBeau couldn't speak. Then he braced himself, and spoke in a rush. "We lost Newkirk. We lost him, Kinch."

"I know. No need to get all emotional about it."

LeBeau's eyes widened, and his grip on Kinch's arm tightened. "Kinch, don't you get it? We lost him."

"Yeah. And we found him." Kinch gestured towards the hotel. "He's in there, with the colonel."

No answer came at first; then a soft, almost inaudible, "_O Dieu..._" LeBeau released Kinch's arm, and covered his face with both hands.

"You are a friend of this man?" Zauner put in, staring at Kinch.

"That's right." Kinch glanced at him. "And you're Doctor - what was it, Zahn?"

"Zauner." The doctor was gazing at LeBeau. "Please, we have thought your other comrade was drowned."

"Oh, man! Louis, he's okay. A bit banged up, kind of woozy, but that's all." Kinch put his hand on LeBeau's shoulder. "He's in the hotel, go and see for yourself."

LeBeau took a deep breath, and looked up. "_C'est vrai_, Kinch? He's alive?"

"Would I lie to you about that? Go on, get in there. Take Doctor Zauner with you. But tell me where Carter is first," Kinch added quickly. "I'll take the truck and go pick him up."

"He's on the road - east of town, following the river." LeBeau pointed towards where he'd left Carter. "There is a girl with him, a young girl_. _We were slow getting here, but it's only a few miles. If you cross the railway line, you've gone too far."

"Okay. Tell the colonel I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Be careful, Kinch. Don't get caught," said LeBeau, sliding out of the cabin as Kinch clambered over the back of the seat. He watched as the truck headed off. Then he looked up at the smiling sun-face on the façade of the hotel. "That's got to be a good sign," he mumbled. "_Allons_."

He led the way up the steps to the entrance, paused for a second with his hand on the door, then pushed it open and stumbled inside.

The lobby was empty. LeBeau gazed round, unsure which way to go. He took a hesitant step towards the reception desk, then stopped as a woman came out of the room beyond.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

LeBeau opened his lips to ask for Colonel Hogan, then caught the words back. He didn't know if this woman was safe to talk to, or under what kind of cover story the colonel was operating here. Caution was ingrained in all Hogan's men; even as worn out and anxious as he was, LeBeau wasn't about to let anything slip.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine," he stammered eventually.

His voice, though shaky and uncertain, must have carried into the back room, because almost at once, a _Luftwaffe_ captain appeared behind the woman. LeBeau's legs suddenly felt weak, and he swayed on his feet. Once again, he was unable to get a word out.

Hogan strode around the counter to reach him. "Steady, LeBeau," he said sharply. Then he smiled. "Boy, am I glad to see you."

LeBeau had only one thought in his mind. "Newkirk?"

The colonel jerked his head towards the back room. "He's asleep." His eyes took in the old man. "This is Doctor Zauner, right? Glad to see you safe, as well. LeBeau, where's Carter?"

"Kinch has gone to pick him up. We were separated..." Abruptly, LeBeau brushed past Hogan, and ran behind the counter. At the door of the back room, he stopped dead. Then he crept forward, and crouched beside Newkirk. Slowly, as if he didn't believe, he put his hand on Newkirk's shoulder. He was real. He was alive.

LeBeau tilted his head back, and drew in a deep breath. "We thought he was gone, _mon Colonel_. I was sure..." He finished with a little incredulous laugh.

From the depths of sleep, Newkirk heard him. He stirred, and opened one eye.

"Might have known you'd turn up safe and sound," he mumbled.

A smile swept across LeBeau's face. "Like a bad _sou_, _mon pote_."

"Carter?"

"Kinch is fetching him."

Newkirk sighed, and closed his eye again.

Hogan had turned his attention to Zauner. "You should sit down," he said. "You look all in."

He guided the old man to the nearest armchair. But Zauner, like LeBeau, could think of only one thing. "_Bitte_," he whispered. "My granddaughter...the Gestapo..."

"Yeah, we know they're on your trail," replied Hogan. "What's it about?"

"It's the girl, _mon Colonel_," said LeBeau, over his shoulder. "She saw something she wasn't meant to."

It was enough to go on with. Hogan didn't ask any more questions. "Frau Stadler, is there any chance we can get this man to bed? He's had about as much as he can take."

"But of course. In here." Gisela went to a door at the back of the sitting room. "Is there anything else? Can I bring anything for him?"

"I think a stiff shot of brandy wouldn't hurt." Hogan's lips twitched into a half-smile. "And bring one for Doctor Zauner, too."

He was gone for some time, getting the old man settled. LeBeau remained where he was, still hardly able to take in that Newkirk was alive. Every so often, Newkirk would blink, look around as if to assure himself LeBeau was there, then drift off again.

By the time Hogan returned, Gisela had brought a bottle of brandy, along with coffee and thick meaty sandwiches. "You'd better eat, LeBeau," the colonel said, when LeBeau shook his head. "It's been a long night, and it's not over yet."

LeBeau took the sandwich, then dropped it, as the sound of footsteps from the lobby reached them. Hogan held up a hand for silence, and moved to the door. "Kinch," he murmured, after a few seconds.

LeBeau jumped to his feet, and Newkirk raised himself on his elbow. But when Kinch appeared, he was alone. He read the anxiety in the three pairs of eyes fixed on him, and shook his head.

"Sorry, Colonel," he said. "I drove to the railway line, and back again, twice. I couldn't find them. Wherever they are, they're not along that road."


	15. Chapter 15

Had Kinch known Carter and Irma were in the car he passed on his first outward trip, he would have turned around and followed the vehicle back to Heiligen. As it was, he didn't give it more than a passing glance; nor did Carter pay any attention to the truck as it went by.

Irma had gone back to sleep, with her head on his shoulder. He would have liked to catch a few winks himself, but he knew it would be a bad idea. This army officer might mean well so far, but one hint of the Gestapo's interest and that could change, real fast.

Carter had no hope now of finding LeBeau; his only option, as far as he could see, was to make for home base, and hope Louis would do the same. At least if he could get Irma to safety, and let Colonel Hogan know what had happened, it would be something.

His heart sank at the thought of the debriefing ahead. He didn't want to be the one to tell about Newkirk.

In spite of his resolution, he must have dozed a little, and only woke when the car came to a stop. He lifted his head, blinking sleepily as he tried to focus. Then he shifted slightly, with a soft grunt as his shoulder muscles gave notice, and gave Irma a very gentle shake.

"Time to wake up," he whispered.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, then shrank closer to Carter, as their new friend opened the door.

"Did you fall asleep?" he asked. "It's no surprise, you must be exhausted. Please, come into the house. I must go back to the garrison shortly, but my wife will be most happy..."

"The garrison...?" Carter was still a little muzzy, and for a few moments he couldn't work out what the major was getting at.

"Just outside the town. I am quartered there, but I have the good fortune to have my wife living so close by." A faint smile crossed the major's face. "And my wife's father is Field Marshall von Kremmer, so my superiors are only too pleased to allow me a little time with her, now and then."

Carter got out of the car, keeping Irma close by. "Are we in Heiligen?" he asked, surveying the neat little house and its immaculately kept garden.

"On the outskirts. The ground is higher here than in town, so the flood is unlikely to reach this far - My dear, you should not have waited up."

A woman had come from the house. She put her hand on the major's arm. "I couldn't sleep," she replied. "Who are your friends, Paul?"

"Refugees from the flood. They were stranded on the road." He patted her hand in a kindly, reassuring manner. Then he turned back to Carter. "I have just realised, I did not introduce myself. I am Major Dietrich, 3rd Artillery Training Brigade, stationed at Heiligen. And you are...?"

"Carterhof. Lieutenant Carterhof." The name came out before Carter had time to think about it; it was an identity he'd used before. "Luftwaffe. I...I am not stationed anywhere at the moment. I'm awaiting reassignment, that is why I am not with my squadron. Because I don't have a squadron to be with." He realised he was rambling, and tried to focus. "And this is my sister, Ir..." He caught the name back with a gasp, and hastily changed it to the first German girl's name that came into his head. "Heidi. That's her name, Heidi."

Irma twitched slightly, but didn't say anything.

"You brought them here?" murmured the major's wife. It was too dark to see her face, but she didn't sound pleased.

"What else was I to do? The garrison is on high alert, and the hospital is being evacuated as we speak." Dietrich took his wife's hands in his. "Please, my dear, just until I can find someone to take them on to Hammelburg."

It seemed as if the lady of the house was about to refuse, but then she sighed. "Very well. Please, will you come in?"

Carter glanced down at Irma, and took a firm grip on her hand. "Come along, Heidi," he said, in what he hoped was an encouraging tone.

She gave another little wriggle of her shoulders. "Yes, Fritz," she replied meekly.

_Fritz?_

A furious protest rose to Carter's lips, and it took an effort to keep it back. But he would have something to say when he got the chance. In the meantime he held his tongue, and followed Frau Dietrich into the house, surreptitiously checking the surrounds as he went. He couldn't see much, but there was a small separate outbuilding further back. It looked like a garage, with the double doors standing open, and he thought he could make out the shape of another, smaller car inside.

The light in the small entry passage was fairly dim, but still bright enough to force him to blink. Irma, who had long since forgotten she was supposed to be on the verge of womanhood, scrubbed her eyes again, and sniffled.

It was the first time Carter had seen her in full light, and she didn't make a particularly good impression; not surprising, bedraggled and worn out as she was. She looked a fairly average sort of girl, mousy-haired, her fair skin lightly freckled, eyes very blue. Right now she was certainly an object for pity, and the major's wife couldn't fail to be moved by it. "Oh, but you are soaked to the skin, poor child," she murmured. "We must get you warm at once."

"My wife suffers from nerves, but she has a kind heart," said Dietrich, as his wife drew Irma away towards the stairs. "You look as if you need a change of clothes, Lieutenant. This way."

Carter followed him upstairs and into a small, overly decorated bedroom. The walls were covered in a striped paper which gave the impression of bars, and reminded him of the cooler, although at least the cells there weren't decked out in pink. The curtains, printed with large, disturbingly perfect roses, matched the coverlet on the bed and the frills adorning the tiny dressing table; a narrow chaise longue stood against the opposite wall.

"I'm afraid we only have one guest room," said Dietrich apologetically, " and my wife chose the furnishings." He paused, allowing a fleeting expression of distaste to cross his face.

"Well, it's not quite what I'm used to," replied Carter, looking around slowly and mentally contrasting this little boudoir with the barracks back at camp. "But you know what they say - beggars can't be choosers. Any port in a storm." He finished with a nervous giggle, as the major turned a slightly mystified look on him.

"I will find you something to change into," he said. "Please excuse me."

"Sure - I mean, thank you, sir," Carter stammered.

As soon as he was alone, he went to the window and looked out, but couldn't see anything. He had no idea what time it was; his watch had stopped at twenty-four minutes past one. But it felt like this night had lasted half a lifetime, and he was starting to wonder if it would ever end.

Turning away from the window, he caught sight of himself in the mirror over the little dressing table. It wasn't surprising Frau Dietrich had been reluctant to take them in; he looked about as disreputable as was humanly possible.

Dietrich came back in, bearing a pair of pyjamas and a rather florid dressing gown. "It was a birthday present from my wife," he explained, seeing Carter's eyes widen at the sight. Then he cleared his throat, and went on. "I hope you don't mind sharing this room. One of you can sleep on the couch, it's quite comfortable. And as you are family..."

"Uh...yeah." Carter flushed uneasily, with a vague feeling it wouldn't be proper. But after all, they wouldn't be staying. If there was another car in that garage, he'd have Irma out of here as soon as he could manage it. If not, well, he'd have to think of something else.

"I will have to leave you in a few minutes," Dietrich added. "The call of duty, I'm afraid."

He seemed awfully nice, for a Kraut. Carter felt a twinge of remorse. Here he was, planning to steal the guy's car; it was a pretty lousy way to pay someone back for helping them out.

Before he could pull himself together enough to respond, Frau Dietrich appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a small figure wrapped in excessive amounts of pale blue satin. Irma's face lit up with relief as soon as she saw Carter, and she pattered forward, half-tripping over the trailing edges of her borrowed robe, to fling herself on him.

"You see, your brother is still here," said Frau Dietrich.

"Well, of course I am. Where else would I be?" Carter replied. "You okay, Irm...er...Heidi?"

She peeked up at him, her smile vanishing instantly. "Yes, Fritzie," she whispered meekly. Once again, Carter had to bite his lips together.

"My dear, we should let our guests try to get some sleep," said the major. "If you would like to take a shower before bed, Lieutenant, the bathroom is across the landing. Good night."

He ushered his wife from the room, and closed the door.

"Well, that was a real nice thing for a young lady to say," Carter broke out, as soon as they were gone. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

Irma scowled. "You called me Heidi."

"What's wrong with that? I had to call you something, and that was the only name I could think of."

"Nobody is called Heidi. Or if they are, then nobody likes them."

"Well, gee, that can't be right," Carter protested. "I mean, Shirley Temple played her in the movie. Who doesn't like Shirley Temple?" He thought about it, then added, "Yeah, I guess you're right. She is kind of annoying."

"I never saw any movie," Irma replied. "But I read the book." The look on her face suggested she hadn't enjoyed it.

"Anyway, that's still no excuse for calling someone Fritz," Carter went on, resuming the attack. "That's about the worst thing you can say to an American. So don't you do that again, miss."

She peeked up at him through her eyelashes, and her lower lip trembled, and at once he felt like a complete heel. "Oh, don't start crying," he said hastily. "Boy, if I ain't the meanest guy in Germany, picking on..." He broke off, as Irma giggled. "Oh, okay, very funny. It's not nice to play tricks on your older brother, you know." But his voice quivered, and the moment of mutual petulance died away.

"What shall we do now?" asked Irma, suppressing a yawn. She was keeping up surprisingly well, but she must be getting really tired by now.

Carter considered. "How about you take a nap, while I get cleaned up a little? Then when it's quiet, we'll sneak out and head for home. Uh...where's your clothes?"

"The lady took them away to get them dry."

"Okay. Guess I better hunt around for something," sighed Carter. "You can't go out in that."

"She lent me a nightgown." Irma squinted down the front of the robe. "And slippers, but they're too big."

Somehow Carter didn't think that helped any. "Well, you get some sleep, okay? I won't be long."

He opened the door. The landing was in darkness, but light still streamed up from below, and he could hear someone speaking. He crept to the top of the stairs, listening.

"...I think you are worrying needlessly, Liesl." It was Major Dietrich speaking. "If you wish, I will send a couple of men back as soon as I reach the garrison, and I'll make some enquiries. But I'm quite sure they are harmless. The girl was practically asleep on her feet. And as for her brother..."

"I wish you did not have to leave me alone with them."

"A soldier's duty, my dear. You understand." Dietrich laughed softly. "I will send those men right away, just to be safe."

Carter heard the door close, and stole back towards the guest room. Irma was already asleep under the rose-patterned coverlet. He didn't wake her yet, but he knew he'd have to cut her rest pretty short.

Once Dietrich started asking around, it wouldn't take long for the Gestapo to turn up. Before they did, Carter had to get Irma out of here.


	16. Chapter 16

"I should never have left them," said LeBeau, yet again, as he walked the length of the room, back and forth, unable to keep still.

"LeBeau, if you don't mind, I'm starting to feel seasick," murmured Newkirk, watching from the couch, propped up on one elbow.

"It's not your fault, LeBeau," added Hogan, who was sitting on the arm of the couch. "Any of us would have done the same."

"_Oui._ But I'm the one who did it." LeBeau kept pacing. "Anything could have happened to them. They could have started walking, gone the wrong way and ended up in the water. Or the Gestapo could have picked them up. Or..."

"Do you have to be so bleedin' cheerful?" Newkirk dropped back against the sofa cushions.

"How d'you think I feel, Louis?" Kinch was standing at the window, as Hogan had done earlier, watching for any sign of the missing pair. "I keep thinking, maybe I missed seeing them, and drove straight past them."

"Or maybe they drove past you. In a car full of SS," added LeBeau.

"No, I'd have noticed a staff car. There were some vehicles out there," said Kinch, suddenly thoughtful. "Several trucks - army, I think, it was too dark to be sure. One car, but it wasn't military. I guess..."

"Hold it a minute," Hogan cut in. "Frau Stadler, you mentioned a garrison near here, right?"

Gisela nodded. "Yes, a training post – artillery. I believe they have been called out to help with the emergency."

"And the command post where we found Newkirk is out that way, so that's likely to be the road they're using." Hogan tilted his head back, pursing his lips. "So maybe Carter and the girl were picked up by one of the army transports, either going out or coming back. Which would put them either at the garrison, or the command post."

"Oh, brilliant," muttered Newkirk. "Hochstetter was asking the doctors there about the girl. If Carter turns up there with her..."

He broke off as the lights suddenly failed. "And that's just what we need, too," he went on, after a few seconds.

"The flood must have reached the power station," said Gisela. "I have a supply of candles in the hotel kitchen, if you will excuse me."

"I'll come with you." Hogan stood up and started towards the door. Within two steps his shin came into collision with something, and he stumbled, uttering an exclamation not quite appropriate in the presence of a lady.

Maybe Gisela understood the words, or maybe her English wasn't good enough. Either way, she giggled. "Please, I can manage."

"No, I insist," said Hogan tightly, trying not to hobble as he edged his way around the obstruction, which seemed to be the low occasional table holding what was left of the coffee and sandwiches. "I'd hate to let a lady..." He broke off again, as he ran into one of the dining room chairs. "I'd hate to let a lady go wandering round in the dark by herself. You might get hurt."

"Colonel, I know my way around my own hotel," said Gisela. "But if you insist..."

She went out into the lobby, with Hogan just behind, trying to follow in her footsteps. It wasn't easy; her slender, black-clothed form was barely visible in the darkness, and she moved very lightly, her feet scarcely making a sound. Hogan, stumbling into armchairs and catching his feet in the edges of the rugs, began to wonder if this was how Carter sometimes felt.

The coffee room was no darker, but extra caution was needed; the sound of gentle snoring from one of the corners testified to Schultz's presence. Hogan slowed his steps, lifting up his feet and feeling his way with care. He needn't have bothered. Right now Schultz wasn't going to wake up for anything short of an 88mm armour-piercing shell landing in the next room. Hogan got past with perfect safety, and half a minute later joined Gisela in the hotel kitchen. She had already found a couple of flashlights, and by their feeble light was delving in one of the cupboards.

He gazed around, taking in the wide, shadowy space, the high ceiling and old-fashioned fittings. "This place is pretty big," he remarked. "You can't be running it on your own."

She smiled briefly. "Of course not. But it's very difficult to get good help these days, so I have to do a lot of the kitchen and cleaning work myself." She handed him a wooden box, and continued rummaging. "You're wondering where my staff are, of course. I sent them home, when it became clear the flood might reach this far. All except the night porter. He didn't wait to be sent, and he took the cash box with him."

"Nice of him," observed Hogan dryly.

"Well, there wasn't much in it. Business has been slow recently – ah, there they are." She emerged from the cupboard with a pair of old Tilley lamps. "In fact, losing the cash box was less of an inconvenience than losing the night porter."

He looked at her keenly. "It can't be easy, keeping the place going."

She didn't answer him, but even in the dim light he thought he could detect a slight flush on her cheek. "There should be some kerosene here somewhere," she murmured.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Perhaps not. But you're right. It has not been easy." Gisela found the kerosene tin and started filling the reservoir of one of the lamps. "My husband was ill for a long time before he died, and it seems as if I've been falling further behind ever since." She paused for a moment, then changed the subject. "It might be possible to find out if your friends have been brought to the garrison. I have contacts there, I may be able to phone them and make some enquiries."

"I'd appreciate that," replied Hogan, studying her profile, wondering why this intelligent, beautiful woman remained tied to a failing business in a backwater like Heiligen.

She seemed unaware of his scrutiny. "This will take a few minutes. Why don't you go ahead? Take one of the torches," she added, with the faint hint of a smile. "It's a little dark out there."

He grinned in acknowledgement of the hit, but took her advice.

Schultz gave a snort, and a tetchy mutter, as Hogan passed through the coffee room again. But he didn't wake up, and Hogan made it back to the sitting room behind the reception desk with no difficulty.

He put the box on the low table. As well as the candles, it contained a few brass holders, none of them matching. "Mrs Stadler thinks she might be able to contact someone at the garrison," he said, as he started fitting candles into the holders.

Kinch came to help. "So maybe we can find out if Carter ended up there. But if he did, what then?"

"We get him out," replied Hogan. "LeBeau and I will take the truck out there, and tell them he's one of our men."

"Out on furlough, I suppose. Wandering the countryside in a disaster area, with a fourteen-year-old girl," added Kinch. "That's going to take some explaining, Colonel."

Hogan, lighting the first candle with his cigarette lighter, paused. "I'll think of something," he said at length. "Maybe..."

He broke off abruptly, hearing the sound of the big front door opening. Holding up a hand to silence his men, he moved towards the connecting door.

Gisela's voice reached him first. "Can I help - but it's you. What are you doing here?"

"Is it safe to talk?" A man's voice, low and urgent in tone.

"Yes, it's safe. There is a Luftwaffe sergeant asleep in the coffee room, he won't hear. But..."

"It's urgent, Gisela. I need your help." The man's voice dropped slightly. "Word has come about an armaments shipment - a train headed for France. It was meant to go via Bernsdorf, and another Underground unit were assigned to take care of it. But because of the flooding of the valley there, it has been rerouted. They're sending it this way, over the old viaduct. None of our people are available to deal with it. I will have to try to stop it myself, or at least delay it."

Hogan glanced towards LeBeau, whose eyes were wide with astonishment. The armaments train was their mission, the job which had sent them into the flood zone in the first place. They'd assumed it was held up indefinitely at Salzenbad, north-east of Bernsdorf; but apparently the Krauts weren't prepared to wait. It was risky, taking a trainload of heavy equipment over a damaged bridge, but LeBeau, when he'd described the trip across the viaduct, had mentioned something about repairs being carried out.

"How can you hope to do anything?" Gisela's voice trembled.

Her caller sighed. "I will go to the arsenal, pack the car with explosives and drive out onto the bridge. With luck when the train hits the car..."

"No. You can't, you wouldn't have a chance."

"If I can get there fast enough, I should be able to get clear. In any case, what else can I do? The train has to be stopped, and I can't call our own people out. Franz is unable to leave his farm, the army have set up their command post on his land. He cannot even get to the radio."

"But..."

Hogan had heard enough. He opened the door and stepped out into the lobby. "Perhaps we can help," he said. "After all, it was our job to start with."

Gisela turned towards him, and even in the near-darkness he could see the look of incredulous relief on her face as she did so. She was holding one of the Tilley lamps in one hand; the flashlight had fallen to the floor as she instinctively reached out towards her visitor, who was wearing a German army uniform.

"I had forgotten, for a moment...forgive me, but...Paul, this is Papa Bear," she stammered, overcome by her emotions. It was pretty clear now what had kept her in Heiligen.

"Papa Bear?" The officer straightened up. He seemed an inconspicuous type, average height, nothing distinguished about him. "Sir...!"

"At ease. I take it you're Frau Stadler's contact at the garrison."

"Yes, sir. Major Dietrich, 3rd Artillery...please excuse my lack of courtesy, this is a bit of a shock."

"Yeah, it's been shocks all round tonight. Look, I admire your initiative, Major, but I think we can do better than a suicide mission." Hogan raised his voice slightly. "LeBeau, come out here."

"_Oui, mon Colonel_." LeBeau appeared in the doorway, with Kinch just behind him.

"You still got the dynamite in the staff car?"

"Of course, _mon Colonel_. And the detonator box. We used some of the cable, but there's still..."

"Good. You two can go and start moving it to the truck." Hogan turned back to Dietrich. "Any idea how soon the train's expected to make the viaduct?"

"The schedule isn't fixed, but probably one to two hours," replied the major, glancing at his watch.

Hogan frowned in thought. "Okay, that should be manageable. Get going, LeBeau."

Dietrich had gone pale, as he realised his potential self-sacrifice was not necessary after all. "I can't tell you how grateful I am," he stammered.

"I think I can guess," replied Hogan, with a half-smile. "But I hope that wasn't what you were planning to ask Frau Stadler to help you with."

"No, of course not," said Dietrich. "There is another urgent matter I hoped she might be able to handle. While I was at the command post, I heard the Gestapo are searching for a young girl." He faltered into silence as he registered the change in Hogan's expression, and Gisela's sudden heightened alertness

"You know where she is?" Hogan demanded.

"I think so." Dietrich seemed startled at his vehemence, and he spoke nervously. "If she is in the company of a young man calling himself Carterhof, then she is at my house."

"Are they safe?" LeBeau, still lingering at the door, couldn't restrain himself.

"Yes, for now," said Dietrich. Hogan closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath.

"Major," he said softly, "you don't know how glad we are that you turned up,"


	17. Chapter 17

"The man is a friend of yours?" asked Dietrich.

"One of my team," replied Hogan. "I was starting to think we'd never find him."

Newkirk, who had got to his feet and shuffled as far as the reception desk, leaned heavily on the polished counter. "I might have known he'd turn up safe and sound," he growled. "Blimey, when I get my hands on him..."

LeBeau broke in, breathless. "_Mon Colonel_, can I go and get them?"

"We've only got a limited time to get this train," said Hogan after a moment's thought. "On the other hand, I don't see Carter waiting round. He doesn't know we're on his trail, so he's just as likely to make a run for it. And I don't want him falling foul of the Gestapo, or anyone else."

"He said he was trying to get to Hammelburg, and the girl was his sister," said Dietrich. "I didn't dare question him too closely. If it had turned out she wasn't the girl they were searching for..."

"...then you might have blown your own cover," Hogan concluded.

"I couldn't be sure. They were very convincing, I would have sworn they were related. And there is another complication." Dietrich added. "My wife does not know about my activities with the Underground. She is expecting me to send a couple of men from the garrison, in case our guests turn out to be dangerous. If I fail to do so, she may phone the base, and I can't guarantee she won't give them away."

"Then we'd better set her mind at rest. And Carter's," added Hogan. "Dietrich, give your wife a call. Ask her to tell Carter that you've found someone who can take them on to Hammelburg. Make sure she gives him a name - Captain Hoganmüller. That should be enough to tip him off that we're on our way. We'll go and pick him up after we take care of the train."

"He will be disappointed," observed LeBeau, as Dietrich went to the phone on the reception counter. "He really wanted this job, and now he's going to miss out."

"Well, he'll just have to learn he can't have everything he wants - Problem, Dietrich?" Hogan interrupted himself as the major rattled the cradle several times.

"The line is dead," replied Dietrich, replacing the handset. His eyes met Hogan's, bright with dismay.

Simultaneous protests broke out from three separate directions. Hogan held up his hand. "All right, cut it out. You'll wake Schultz." He paused again for thought. "LeBeau, can you handle more work tonight?"

"_Oui_, _mon Colonel_," said LeBeau.

"Okay, I want you and Kinch to head out to the rail line, and start laying the dynamite. Don't be too clever about it, there's no need to get the train while it's on the viaduct. Plant the charges along the track on this side. Dietrich and I will meet you there after we pick up Carter. But if the train arrives before we do, don't wait."

"Got it, Colonel," replied Kinch.

"Good. Get moving." Hogan turned to Newkirk. "Yeah, I know, you want to help, too. Keep an eye on Schultz, if you can stay awake yourself."

"I think I can manage that," said Newkirk dryly. "You sure there's nothing else I can do?"

"One more thing," replied Hogan. "Keep your fingers crossed. If Carter leaves the major's house before we get there, who knows what kind of trouble he and that girl could get into?"

* * *

With a gasp, Carter broke the surface of sleep. His eyes snapped open to find nothing but darkness, and his hands, reaching for something to hold on to, met only air.

He didn't know where he was. The nightmare had scarcely lasted a second, but had been vivid enough to completely override his sense of reality. Even after waking, he still felt the relentless drag of the current, the pressure of the water as it invaded his airways, and the line slipping under his fingers.

Gradually the silence in the room, and the immobility of the couch beneath him, displaced the chaotic memory which had invaded his dreamless slumber. His breathing steadied; he got to his feet, throwing aside the blanket he'd been sleeping under, and groped his way to the door.

He found the light switch, and clicked it two or three times, with no result. Apparently the electricity had failed; well, that was just great. As if things weren't bad enough already, now the man whose physical ineptitude was a byword around Stalag 13 was going to have to get himself and his companion safely down a steep flight of stairs in complete darkness, and find the way out of an unfamiliar house, all without making any noise.

At least he'd been smart enough to go looking for some clothes for Irma to change into, and woken her for long enough to put them on, before he'd settled down to wait till it was safe to leave. He had no idea how much time had passed since then. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but that was just his luck.

The rain had stopped. Now was probably a good time to try to get out, if he could manage it without disturbing Frau Dietrich, wherever in the house she might be.

He opened the door quietly, and slipped out onto the landing. It was just as dark out here; he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember the layout. Then, very slowly, testing the floor at every step, expecting any second to find nothing beneath his feet, he made his way towards where he thought the stairs were.

Six uncertain steps, and his outstretched fingers came into contact with a smooth, rounded surface; it took him a moment to realise he'd found the balustrade around the stairwell, and a few shuffles to the left brought him to the top of the stairs.

From here he could make out the polished surface of the bottom few steps, illuminated by a faint gleam of candlelight from the doorway just past the foot of the stairs. The major's wife was probably in there, still waiting up for her husband. Or perhaps the soldiers he'd promised to send back were occupying that room for their watch. Whoever it was, they'd be sure to see anyone heading for the front door. But there had to be another way out; a back door, or a window they could climb out.

Carter moved back towards the bedroom, his eyes still on the soft glow from downstairs; six steps back, a half-turn, and his hand, reaching out to locate the doorway, instead found a blank wall.

Things were off to a flying start. He wasn't even out of the house yet, and he was already lost.

He felt his way along, sliding his fingers across the textured wall-paper; and he didn't start breathing again until they met the raised door-frame. Once inside, he closed the door and stole across the floor to wake Irma. Before he got halfway, his bare foot met an unexpected obstacle, something soft and fluffy. He stumbled, overbalanced and landed with a thud on the floor, both feet tangled in the blanket he'd dropped there a minute or so earlier.

For a second he froze, listening; then with more haste than care, he scrambled towards the couch. He flung himself onto it, dragging the blanket with him, and closed his eyes.

There was no sound from below. He waited, counting the seconds off in his head, for almost a minute; then raised his head, slowly, and waited another minute. Still nothing. Carter swung his legs over the edge of the couch, then quickly drew back, as the door opened and a gleam of candlelight fell across the floor.

"_Ist alles in Ordnung_?"

Carter kept his eyes tightly shut, but Irma gave a sigh, and a sleepy, incomprehensible murmur, before rolling over and going back to sleep. Frau Dietrich remained in the doorway for several seconds, then withdrew, apparently satisfied. Carter gave her enough time to get downstairs before he moved again.

That had been too close. He would have to be a lot more careful from now on.

He opened the curtains, allowing a soft diffuse light to enter the room, then tiptoed to the bed. "Irma?" he whispered. "Hey, wake up."

She stirred, and muttered something unintelligible; probably telling him to get lost. Reluctantly, he put his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently, and this time she woke with a start. He hushed her quickly. "It's okay, it's just me. Sorry, honey, but we gotta get out of here."

Irma turned over, and hunched her shoulders. "I don't want to," she mumbled.

Carter tried again. "Come on, wake up. Don't go back to sleep." But that was exactly what she was doing, and as he gave her another shake, she slapped his hand away. "Hey, now, don't you start that, young lady," he told her. "You just wake up right now, and get ready to go."

She sat up, scrubbing her eyes, with a tired whimper. "Why can't we stay here?"

"Because that major might find out we're not who we said we were, and if he does, we're in big trouble," said Carter. "So here's what we're gonna do. There's a car parked in the garage next to the house. We'll sneak out, take the car - I'm pretty sure I can get it started, LeBeau showed me how to jump the wires. Then we'll drive to Hammelburg. Piece of pie."

He picked up his jacket from the end of the couch, and put it on; then held his hand out. "You ready?"

Irma didn't take the offered hand. He could hear how fast her breathing was. "What if there is more water over the road?" she jerked out.

"There won't..." Carter began, but he couldn't say it. He desperately wanted to reassure her, and himself as well. But he couldn't lie to her; he'd thought of it, too, and he was as scared as she was.

_Okay, so we give up the idea, and just stay here where it's safe_. The idea was not merely tempting; it almost overwhelmed every instinct Carter possessed. Out there it was cold and dark, and the river was waiting to take them as it had taken Newkirk. At least here they'd be warm and dry, while they waited for the Gestapo to come for them.

No. He couldn't let them find her. Whatever happened, he had to keep this girl out of their hands. She had nobody else to look after her; it was up to him. He made an effort, and managed to keep his voice steady. "There won't be any water. And if there is, we'll just go around it. I won't let anything happen to you. That's a promise."

She gazed at him, wide eyed with trepidation, then slowly put her hand into his. "Good girl," he whispered. "Now, we have to be real quiet, okay?"

He opened the door and once again crept to the stairs.

Descending the first few steps in darkness brought on a kind of vertigo. Carter hesitated at each one, feeling the edge with his toes, certain he was going to fall. He had to stop for a few seconds; he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and kept going. By the time they reached the ground floor, he was perspiring in spite of the chill in the air. He edged around the newel and led Irma along the narrow, shadowy passage towards the back of the house. The first door they came to, he opened and ducked inside.

Once again he was completely in the dark. He took a couple of steps forward, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust; and slowly the faintest reflection of moonlight on the wall, visible only at the edge of his vision, showed where the window was. He let go of Irma's hand, and started across the floor, but within seconds barged into something large and heavy, and stopped, completely disoriented. Then he pulled himself together and began edging around the obstacle, which seemed to be a table. As he worked his way along the edge, he encountered one of the chairs to go with it. This must be the dining room.

It took only a minute to get to the window, but it felt like hours. Carter was so nervous by now that when his fingers finally found the heavy curtain, he almost jumped out of his skin. He pulled the fabric aside, and peered out.

"All clear," he whispered as he opened the window. It was a casement, with a low, broad sill, looking out towards the garage. Carter swung himself over the ledge, turned to help Irma out, and drew the window closed again. The ground outside was soaked, and he remembered, too late, that he'd left his boots behind. It was going to be a cold trip home, as far as his toes were concerned. He glanced at Irma's feet; they were safely encased in Frau Dietrich's oversized slippers. Well, she'd be okay, at least.

Without a word, he took her hand again and led the way to the little garage. It was dark inside, and smelled of grease and damp timber. It was cluttered, too; Carter could make out no details, but as he slipped inside, he brushed against something which fell with a clatter. Instinctively he grabbed at another object which threatened to follow the first, and found himself gripping what felt like a garden spade.

After a few seconds, Carter started breathing again. He put the spade down, and tried the door of the car; it wasn't locked.

"Go round the other side and get in," he murmured to Irma. But as she went around the back of the car, the thin yellow beam of a headlight stopped her in her tracks. Another vehicle had drawn up behind them.

For a moment, Carter froze. Then, as the driver of the car got out, and another man from the passenger side, he snatched up the spade and threw himself between Irma and the approaching men.

They stopped, silhouetted by the headlights. "_Bitte_..." said the driver.

Carter raised the implement higher, and took a step forward. If they were armed, he didn't stand a chance. But he had to try.

Then the other one spoke. "Carter," he said, in a weary tone, "for Pete's sake, put that down, before you hurt someone."

The paralysis of astonishment held Carter immobilised. It couldn't be...

The man came closer, and the spade fell from Carter's hands. A flush of relief set him sweating again. It couldn't be; but it was.

"Colonel Hogan?" he stammered. "What the heck are you doing here?"


	18. Chapter 18

Dietrich didn't waste any time, once he grasped what was going on. He let Carter and Irma back into the house by the scullery door, then took Hogan in and introduced him to his wife, to keep her attention diverted for long enough for his house guests to make it back to where they were supposed to be.

"My love, this is Captain Hoganmüller, from the Luftwaffe intelligence office in Hammelburg." Dietrich presented Hogan with bored civility. "Captain, my wife. Captain Hoganmüller is on his way back to Hammelburg, and was kind enough to agree to take our guests along."

Hogan regarded Frau Dietrich with a calculating eye. A pretty little woman, especially by candlelight, but if he was any judge of character, not too bright. She had obviously formed a favourable opinion of him; most women did, at first.

"That is very kind indeed, Captain," she said, extending her hand. "I'm sure the lieutenant and his sister will be very grateful. I'll just go and wake them"

Dietrich stopped her as she started for the door. "No, my dear, please allow me to go. You stay and talk to the captain. I believe he knows your father. Captain, my wife is the daughter of Field Marshal von Kremmer, who you would have met when you were stationed in Berlin."

Hogan caught the toss neatly. "Ah, yes, the Field Marshall," he said. "A fine man, and a great tactician. You must be very proud of him, Frau Dietrich. You know, if Germany had more men like him, the war would soon be over. It's an honour to make his daughter's acquaintance."

"Why, thank you, Captain." The major's wife simpered and blushed. "You were not on my father's staff? I don't seem to remember..."

"Unfortunately not. I was on secondment to _Reichsmarschall _Goering's office," replied Hogan, in the airy tone of someone intimately familiar with the Führer's inner circle. "I had the good fortune to attend a few strategy meetings, and to hear your father's ideas first-hand. It's a shame the _Reichsmarschall_ wouldn't give him any credit. Personally, I put it down to jealousy."

He got no further; Frau Dietrich interrupted. "Captain, may I say something, before my husband returns? I don't want to cause any trouble, but the young man and his sister - there's something suspicious about them."

Not by so much as a flicker did Hogan show any outward response. "In what way, Frau Dietrich?"

"Well, that's just it," she said. "They seem harmless enough, but I mean, turning up without so much as a by-your-leave, upsetting a respectable household, it's just not done. I'm sure they're up to something." She glanced up at him, assessing his reaction. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Paul. He's such a trusting soul, you know, he believes the best of everyone. But I thought you ought to be warned."

"You were quite right to bring it to my attention," said Hogan, after a moment's pause. "As it happens, we in the intelligence service have had our eye on Lieutenant Carterhof for some time. I'll be watching him, trust me."

She stared at him. "You don't mean...?"

Hogan put his finger to his lips. "Best not to say any more. It's a confidential matter. But you can rest assured, my people will take care of it." He smiled slightly, with no warmth in his eyes. It was now quite clear to him why Dietrich kept his wife in the dark about his own activities. He wouldn't put it past her to take the matter further; it was just as well the phone lines were down.

She looked as if she wanted to know more, but the sound of footsteps on the stairs discouraged any further questions. Hogan went to the door, just as Dietrich reached the bottom step, with Carter and the girl just behind.

"This is Captain Hoganmüller, who is going to take you to Hammelburg," said Dietrich.

Carter summoned up a wavering smile. "Thanks," he murmured. Irma clung to his arm, and scowled. The poor kid was worn out; the sooner they got her out of here, the better.

Frau Dietrich's eyes fixed on the skirt and jumper Irma was dressed in. "Isn't that...?"

"I took a few things from your wardrobe, my dear," Dietrich put in hastily. "Our little friend's clothes are still damp, she can't possibly go out in them. I knew you wouldn't mind."

Before she could make it clear to him how mistaken he was, Hogan turned the conversation. "It's been a real pleasure, madame. But I'm anxious to be on my way as quickly as possible, and I know the major here has other duties to attend to once he's driven us back to pick up my own car. Lieutenant, if you please..." He turned to Carter, and gestured towards the door, before giving the major's wife a very precise bow.

Carter followed suit, not nearly as crisply. "Thank you, ma'am. You've been very kind," he said, although neither his tone nor his expression agreed. Then he put his arm around Irma's shoulders, and followed Hogan out into the night, while Dietrich took his leave.

"You okay, Carter?" muttered Hogan as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Yeah. I guess so." Carter sounded uncertain. "Major Dietrich...?"

"One of the good guys. He's with the Underground. This is Doctor Zauner's granddaughter, right?" Hogan opened the rear door of the car. "Your grandfather is safe, Irma. But he's very anxious about you."

"It's okay, Irma," added Carter. "You know who this is? This is Papa Bear. You heard of him from your grandpa, right?"

Irma shrank closer to him, peeking at Hogan with big frightened eyes. "_Wo ist er_?" she faltered, so softly as to be almost inaudible, and so shakily that Hogan had to guess what she was saying.

"He's at the hotel in town. You'll see him in a few minutes," said Hogan. "Hey, now, no need to cry. It's been a long night, but the worst is over." He turned to Carter. "Better get in, we don't want to waste time."

Carter nodded, and helped Irma into the back seat, but didn't follow. He gripped the top of the door frame with one hand, gazing at Hogan's top button, unwilling to look him in the eye. "Colonel, I gotta tell you something," he began unsteadily. "I don't know if you already heard it. It's real bad news."

He stopped, momentarily unable to control his voice. But Hogan already knew what was on his mind. "He's okay, Carter," he said. "He's at the hotel, too."

It took a few moments for the words to register; then Carter raised his eyes, searching Hogan's face, his own wavering between incredulity and bewilderment. "He's not...?" he started, but broke off, not wanting to say it in case he was wrong.

"He's okay, Carter," said Hogan again. "Newkirk's okay." Then, as Carter just stared at him, he added, "Who d'you think got word back to us? Who else could have talked the Krauts into sending a message to Stalag 13? Oops, steady there."

He put a hand on Carter's shoulder as the news finally sank in. Carter tried to speak, failed, tried a second time. On the third attempt, the words made it out. "Colonel, I thought...I really thought..."

"Yeah, I know. LeBeau told us all about it. But that's Newkirk for you - always has to do things the hard way."

"What about LeBeau?" asked Carter quickly. "Is he okay, too?"

"He's fine." Hogan glanced towards the house. "There's Dietrich. Get in, Carter, don't hold us up. We don't want to miss our train."

Carter dived into the car. "Did you hear that, Irma? They're all okay. Everyone's okay." He sounded as if he hardly believed it.

"All fixed?" said Hogan, as Dietrich slid behind the wheel.

Dietrich grimaced. "I told her I'll be heading back to the command post. She's not very pleased about it, but duty comes first, after all."

"Whatever that duty might be," murmured Hogan; and Dietrich grinned.

They drove in silence for a couple of minutes, before Carter suddenly spoke up. "Colonel, did you just say something about a train?"

"That's right, Carter." Hogan looked over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming. "You had a job to do tonight, and I know how you hate it when you don't get to finish a project. Kinch and LeBeau are already laying the charges, and if we're lucky, we should make it in time for the fireworks."

"You mean we get to blow it up after all?" Carter straightened up. "Well, I'll be darned, I thought that was a complete wipe-out."

"What should we do about the child?" said Dietrich.

"I don't want to take her out on the job," replied Hogan after a moment of thought. "It's no place for a kid, and it increases the risk for the rest of us. We'll drop her at the hotel - it's on the way."

"She's practically asleep already, Colonel," remarked Carter. "I bet if we did take her along, she wouldn't even wake up when the dynamite went off."

"Maybe not. But let's not take the chance."

Fifteen minutes brought them back to the town square, and the hotel. Irma was slumbering so deeply by now that Hogan didn't even try to wake her, just lifted her out of Carter's arms and carried her up the steps. Gisela had obviously been watching for them, and stood at the open door with a flashlight to guide his steps.

"The old gentleman is awake, and very anxious" she said. "He will be glad to see her safe." Her eyes went past him towards Dietrich, who had followed Hogan to the door. He stood at the foot of the steps, gazing at her in a way no married man ever ought to look at a widow. Hogan didn't comment, however; he simply proceeded into the hotel to reunite Irma with her grandfather.

Carter got out of the car, and stared at the hotel entrance. Newkirk was in there. Colonel Hogan had said he was okay, so it must be true; but that last sight of him, before he'd disappeared under the water, that was all Carter could think of. He couldn't be sure until he saw for himself. He went slowly up the steps, past Dietrich and Gisela, who had eyes only for each other. He hesitated in front of the door, then abruptly pushed it open and went inside.

The lobby, illuminated only by the kerosene lamp standing on the reception desk, gave him no reassurance; nobody was there.

"Hello?" The sound of his own voice scared him. But it got a response; a dishevelled individual emerged from the room behind the counter, peering at him with bleary eyes.

"Well, you took your bloody time getting here," he remarked caustically. "Next time, could you drop us a postcard, let us know where you are?" But the smile of pure relief in his eyes took the sting out of the words.

Carter blinked, and came forward, staring. "Newkirk?" He took a deep breath, and his pent-up emotions finally broke free, though in an unexpected direction. "You mean you've been here the whole time? Well, that just about takes the cake. Do you know how scared I was? I nearly had a fit, when that thing hit you. Boy, if you ever do anything like that again, pal...!"

"All right, Andrew, calm down." Newkirk held up both hands, as if to stem the flow of Carter's ire. "At least keep your voice down, Schultz is asleep in there." He jerked his head towards a doorway at the far end of the lobby. "And don't do that," he added, wincing as Carter grabbed his arm.

Carter didn't let go. "Well, for Pete's sake, Newkirk, I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I thought for sure you were gone for good."

"We don't get rid of him that easy," said Hogan dryly, as he came out of the back room. "You ready to go? That train won't wait, you know."

"Uh, yeah, I guess so." Carter was still clutching Newkirk's arm, his burst of indignation fading. He was flushed, and slightly breathless, and Newkirk cast a doubtful eye on him.

"Maybe you should leave him here, Colonel," he said. "I don't like the look of him."

A wail of protest broke from Carter. "Aw, Colonel, you already said I could go."

"You can go, Carter. Go on out to the car, I'll be right there."

Carter hesitated, then broke into a grin, and headed for the door.

Hogan turned to Newkirk. "Well, what else could I do, when he looked at me like that?" He laughed softly, and shook his head. "Okay, we could be gone some time, but we won't hang around once the job's done. With any luck, we should be able to get back to camp in time for roll call." He turned to follow Carter, but stopped. "You know, there's just one thing I feel bad about."

"What's that, Colonel?" asked Newkirk.

Hogan sighed. "I promised Schultz we wouldn't get up to any monkey business. And I hate to go back on my word."

"I shouldn't let that worry you, Colonel," replied Newkirk, after a moment of thought. "This isn't monkey business. Take my word for it, no monkey in his right mind would be daft enough to go out in this weather, just to blow up a munitions train."


	19. Chapter 19

"How's it coming, LeBeau?"

"Almost done." LeBeau pushed the last of the dynamite into the small space he'd hollowed out under the track. "Carter wasn't taking any chances, was he?"

"Well, it's been a while since his last demolition job, so I guess he wanted to make sure it was memorable," replied Kinch, glancing back along the line of steel. "I sure hope he gets here in time to see the fireworks."

LeBeau sniggered. "Don't worry. The amount of dynamite he brought along, this one's going to be visible from Berlin." He finished scraping the dirt back over the hole, and stood up. "Is the train coming yet?"

"No, not yet. Let's get this detonator box wired up."

Kinch picked up the cable reel, and they retreated to the low outcrop of granite boulders, some distance away, which they'd already identified as the safest available vantage point. The truck was parked a short distance away, sheltered by the trees.

They worked quickly and silently, attaching the cables to the detonator box. Then they settled down to wait.

"What a night," murmured Kinch after a while.

"_Oui_." LeBeau shifted a little, trying to find a comfortable position against the hard surface of the rock. "You know something, Kinch? For a while there, I didn't think any of us were going to make it home. And Newkirk..." He fell silent for a moment, then added in a low voice, "_J'ai cru qu'il soit mort, vraiment mort._"

"But he made it," said Kinch.

"This time he made it. Next time, maybe not," LeBeau huddled down slightly in his topcoat. "One of these days, it's going to happen for real."

Kinch had climbed onto one of the boulders, to get a clear view of both the approach road and the viaduct. The moon had finally gone below the horizon, and the spread of water was no longer visible, but he knew it was there. "You can't judge anything by this mission, Louis," he replied. "What you guys had to deal with tonight was a whole different ball game to the usual assignment."

"I know. But still, Kinch..."

He broke off, raising his head.

"Car coming," said Kinch. He jumped down, and crouched next to LeBeau, his eyes searching the road beside the railway track. Neither of them moved as the vehicle came into sight; only when it stopped did Kinch edge forward for a better view. Then as the front-seat passenger got out, he relaxed.

"It's Colonel Hogan," he whispered. "And hey, look who he found."

He signalled with his flashlight, then descended to the road. "The charges are all laid, Colonel," he said. "No sign of the train yet, but we've got the welcome party ready. Carter, you sure had us worried for a while there."

Carter gave him a one-sided grin, but before he could say anything, LeBeau came flying down from the lookout. "Carter! Are you okay?"

"Well, sure I am," replied Carter. "What d'you think, a fella can't take care of himself or something?"

"Of course not, I was just worried about..."

"Save it, LeBeau," Hogan cut in. "Kinch, where's the truck?"

"Just off the road, behind the trees over there," said Kinch, "You might want to move the car, Major, otherwise it's liable to end up as a convertible."

"Actually, Kinch," put in Carter, "it's more likely to be flattened by falling wreckage. See, for the roof to be blown off, the shock wave would have to expand laterally, but this one's going straight up, so..."

"Carter." The mild exasperation in Hogan's voice brought him up short.

"We're camped out up there, Colonel," Kinch went on.

"Okay. Dietrich, you better move the car. Kinch, watch the road. LeBeau, you watch out for the train."

"What about me, Colonel?" asked Carter tentatively.

"Carter," replied Hogan with a grin, "you can relax for now. But don't fall asleep. Otherwise when the train gets here...well, you don't want anyone else doing the honours, do you?"

* * *

It was easy to tell when Sergeant Schultz was about to wake up. His gentle, precisely rhythmic snoring - gurgle in, whistle out - became slightly syncopated, and interspersed with faint, querulous mumblings.

On this occasion, he also nearly slid out of the armchair he was snoozing in. He woke with a snort, and a muttered, "_Was ist los_?"

"And good morning to you, too, Schultz," said Newkirk. He had settled in one of the other chairs which were scattered about the coffee room, and had in fact been dozing himself. The silence, the soft flicker of candlelight, and his own physical fatigue had been more than he could fight against.

"It's morning already?" muttered Schultz, rubbing his eyes, and fumbling for his pocket watch.

"Well, after midnight, anyway. You seemed to be having a nice little kip there, Schultzie. Pleasant dream, was it?"

Schultz grunted, suppressing a yawn. "_Ja._ I dreamed I was asleep." He finally managed to extract his watch, and peered at it. "_Donnerwetter_!"

"Yep, there's probably been a bit of that, and all," remarked Newkirk.

"Do you know what time it is?" Schultz's eyes, bulging with dismay, moved from the watch to Newkirk, and back again. "Oh, this is terrible. When I think what Kommandant Klink will do to me...We have to go back to camp right away. Where is Colonel Hogan?"

"He's not here right now." Newkirk got to his feet, and stretched his arms, a move which was quickly cut short by a hot flash of pain radiating from his shoulder. Apparently the medication had finally worn off.

"What-what-what do you mean, he's not here?"

"Well, he went off to look for LeBeau and Carter, didn't he?" said Newkirk airily. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already."

"And he's not back yet?"

"These things take time, Schultz."

Schultz heaved himself upright, staggering a little under his own weight. "Newkirk, please, already I am in enough trouble. It's bad enough you and Carter and LeBeau escaped, but when the Kommandant finds out that Colonel Hogan and Kinch escaped too - and that I helped them..."

"Nobody's escaped, Schultzie. Blimey, what gave you that idea?" Newkirk gave him a gentle push, sending him back into the armchair with a thud. "No, you see, what happened, we were working on old Klink's staff car, and we thought we should take it for a run, just make sure everything was in order. Only we ended up taking a wrong turn somewhere - Carter was navigating, always a bad idea, that - and before we knew it, there we were."

"Where?" asked Schultz.

"Well, if we'd known that, we wouldn't have been lost, would we?"

Schultz acknowledged the logic of this with a grimace; thought about it for a moment, his brow wrinkling; then said, "Wait a minute. If you were lost, then how will Colonel Hogan know where to look for Carter and LeBeau?"

Newkirk sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Because I came down river, of course. So they're looking up river. Satisfied?"

"No," replied Schultz brusquely. "We can not wait for them to get back. I must return to Stalag 13 at once, and let the Kommandant know that four prisoners are missing. And you are coming with me, Newkirk."

"Well, that's going to be a bit tricky, Schultz." Newkirk rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "See, the Colonel and Kinch took the truck. Of course, we could start walking - how long do you think it'd take to get back to Stalag 13 on foot from here?" He tilted his head on one side, pondering the question. "I expect we'll miss roll-call. The Kommandant won't be pleased. And then you'll have to tell him you've lost the truck. And his staff car. And four prisoners. Two of whom left camp with you."

"Oh, boy!" muttered Schultz under his breath.

"Yep. Tell you what, though, Schultz," Newkirk added, "if he does send you to the Russian Front, he'll probably recall you within a couple of days...just so he can send you there again."

He turned, leaving Schultz to absorb the implications of his situation, as Gisela came into the coffee room. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"The old gentleman and the child are sleeping," she replied softly.

"Probably the best thing for them," said Newkirk, in the same low tone. "You look as if a nap wouldn't go astray, either."

She shook her head. "I couldn't sleep. Perhaps when they return..."

The sound of the main entrance door opening, and heavy footsteps from the lobby, interrupted her, and then came a shout: "_Gibt es jemand hier_?" The voice was harsh, slightly agitated, and completely unfamiliar.

With a startled glance at Newkirk, Gisela turned and left the coffee room. He followed more slowly, catching the door as it swung closed and peering through the narrow gap.

The lobby was almost in darkness, but he could just see the new arrivals; three men, two of them supporting a fourth, all in the black uniforms of the SS.

Gisela stopped dead, momentarily petrified; but she pulled herself together quickly. "Can I help you?" she asked, a slight quiver in her voice.

"_Ja_. Our Major has been injured..." one of them began.

The one who was being assisted broke in. "What Private Kestler means," he snarled, "is that he ran the car over my foot. Twice."

_Bloody Nora, not him again!_ thought Newkirk.

Kestler had gone silent, as most men did whenever Hochstetter's voice took on that abrasive edge. Any spirit which might have been left in the man was demolished by the ferocity of the glare he received from his superior.

Having reduced Kestler to rubble, Hochstetter turned his attention to Gisela. "You are the owner of these premises, _gnädige Frau_?"

"Yes, _Herr Major_. My name is Stadler," she replied. "If I can be of assistance..."

"You will place your hotel at the disposal of the Gestapo," interjected Hochstetter. "We are pursuing a person of interest, who is believed to be in this area. Unfortunately," he sent another venomous look towards the hapless Kestler, "the injury I received yesterday has been exacerbated, and is hindering our progress. For this reason, it is necessary for me to remain here, while my men continue the search."

Gisela didn't move a muscle. "_Herr Major_, I would be most pleased to offer you my co-operation," she murmured, after a few seconds, "but...but as you can see, there is no power, and the telephone is not working. We may be obliged to evacuate at any time. Perhaps you would find the army garrison more suitable..."

Hochstetter rejected the suggestion immediately. "The garrison is on full alert. Also, I prefer to be more centrally located. This will be adequate. Müller, bring the radio from the car, we will set it up here so you can report to me. But not in the lobby. I require somewhere more private. What is through there?"

He jabbed a finger towards the coffee room door, and Newkirk drew back. Schultz had got to his feet again, at the sound of the well-known voice. "But...but that is..." he stammered faintly, then trailed off.

"That is the coffee room," said Gisela. "But..."

"I will use that room." Hochstetter, forgetting his injured foot, started forward. "_Ach, du..._Fools!" he hissed at his men.

Newkirk backed away from the door, glancing around desperately. There wasn't time to make a dash for the kitchen exit; without thinking, he dived behind the armchair Schultz had been sleeping in, stifling an exclamation of pain at the jarring of his shoulders. Schultz, looking as if he'd just been told it was open season on overweight prison guards, spun round to meet the bright, menacing eyes of the man most likely to take the first shot. Hochstetter stared back at him, the customary tightness of his facial muscles gradually relaxing.

"Sergeant Schultz," he growled, deep in his throat. "And I thought this day could get no worse. I was wrong. _Now_ it can get no worse."


	20. Chapter 20

"Why is it that nobody trusts the Gestapo, Schultz?"

Hochstetter, slumped in one of the big armchairs in Gisela Stadler's coffee room, his injured foot resting on a worn and faded ottoman, had grown pensive over his fourth glass of _Schnapps_. With the mood came a desire to talk, although so far he hadn't said anything of interest.

Receiving no reply, the major stirred in his seat, and his eyes, which had been vaguely directed at the wavering flame of the nearest candle, flickered towards Schultz, sharpening into focus. "Well?" he snarled. "I am waiting for an answer, Sergeant. And keeping the Gestapo waiting can lead to all kinds of...let's say, unpleasantness." His voice dropped to a growl. "So I suggest you tell me, now. Why is everyone afraid of me?"

"I don't know, _Herr Major_," stammered Schultz. "Perhaps because you are always shouting?"

Newkirk, still sheltering behind the armchair, cautiously extended his right leg, which was starting to stiffen up. He had long since come to the conclusion that this was not the cleverest place to hide. At least he was able to keep Hochstetter under observation through the gap between the chair and the wall, while remaining unseen himself; but it seemed as if he'd been here for hours, and it wasn't getting any more comfortable. He had hoped the major would give in to the combined influence of physical fatigue and brandy, and fall asleep, but so far there seemed no prospect of that.

Hochstetter glowered. "Schultz, you are a loyal German soldier...and an idiot." He turned his head slightly. "Frau Stadler, you are also loyal, are you not? So you have no reason to fear the Gestapo."

"No reason at all, _Herr Major_," replied Gisela. She had remained standing, close to the door leading to the lobby, ready to intercept any arrivals and warn them of the Gestapo's presence.

"No reason at all." Hochstetter repeated the words softly, spacing them out as if searching for some hidden meaning beneath the surface. For a few endless seconds he continued to examine them, before laying them aside. "So tell me this, _gnädige Frau_. If you were a witness to something you were never meant to see - something that involved soldiers of the _Schutzstaffel_- would you report the matter? Or would you keep quiet, and hope that nobody would ever find out? What would be your duty in that case, Frau Stadler?"

"I don't quite understand you," said Gisela.

"Of course you don't." Hochstetter spoke quite mildly, but the threat in his tone was clear. "How should you?" He gazed at her in silence for a few moments before he went on. "My duty is clear, if yours is not. There are enemies of the state everywhere, Frau Stadler. And my duty is to weed them out, no matter who or where they are. Sometimes they grow desperate, and do something foolish, without thinking of the consequences. And the consequences can be most...unexpected."

Newkirk was already cold, but an icier chill prickled across his skin. _Enemy of the state? She's just a little girl_, he thought furiously.

As if he'd somehow divined the thought, Hochstetter answered. "They were children. The future of the Fatherland, the mothers of the next generation of pure Germans. And now one is dead, and one missing, and the third...Have you any children, Frau Stadler?"

"No," replied Gisela, her voice constrained by the tightness of her throat. Newkirk could just see her, standing very upright by the door, trying not to look away. He could understand her revulsion; he felt sick himself.

"_Bitte, Herr Major_," put in Schultz, clearly all at sea in the midst of this conversation, yet anxious to keep things pleasant, "I have five children. Three boys, and two girls."

"How old are your daughters, Schultz? Don't tell me." Hochstetter held up his hand. "Your older daughter is fifteen, and the younger has just had her ninth birthday."

"That's right," said Schultz slowly. "How did you know?"

"Oh, I know a great deal about you. And your Kommandant." Hochstetter's voice grated over the last word. "You are both on the list of persons of interest to the Gestapo, we hold an extremely comprehensive dossier on you. But don't look so worried, Schultz. We have no doubts about your loyalty. Only about your intelligence."

He fell into a brooding silence, and after a while his eyelids began to droop. Newkirk could have sworn out loud from sheer frustration. All this time he'd been waiting for Hochstetter to fall asleep so he could get out from behind this flipping chair. And now the major was finally dozing off, just when he'd started to say something Newkirk wanted to hear. Everything Irma's grandfather couldn't tell them, everything Irma herself didn't know, might be locked up in that devious, secretive mind; there had to be some way to get to it.

Gisela moved closer, her eyes fixed on the major, whose head had dropped forward. "Major Hochstetter," she murmured. "Are you still awake?"

No response. Newkirk shuffled away from the wall; his foot had gone to sleep, and he had to bite his lip to keep from expressing his discomfort in a few ill-chosen words. Then he edged back again, as Hochstetter gave a snort and a grunt, and raised his head. "_Was ist los_?"

"Nothing," said Gisela quickly. "At least...another _Schnapps_, _Herr Major?_"

He regarded her in silence, his momentary waking confusion gradually giving way to the dark, suspicious watchfulness Newkirk and Schultz knew so well. A calculating smile took possession of his lips; no smile of any kind ever showed in those eyes. "Frau Stadler, I believe you are trying to get me drunk," he remarked, in a soft, almost genial tone.

"Not at all, _Herr Major_. I think it would not be very easy," she replied steadily. "I can make coffee, if you prefer."

"I do prefer."

"It will take only a few minutes. If you will excuse me..." She bowed her head slightly, and left the room.

There was silence for a little while. Newkirk rested his head against the wall, and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this drained; but he didn't dare fall asleep. If only Gisela could keep Hochstetter talking, he might give them some clue to what those kiddies had stumbled across on that golden autumn afternoon.

Newkirk would have given anything to be able to come out of his hiding place and force the information out of the evil-minded sod, but the consequences might be disastrous, not just for himself, but for Gisela and Schultz, for the fugitives sleeping so close by, and ultimately for the entire Stalag 13 operation. He would have to leave it to Gisela, and hope she knew what questions to ask.

But before she returned, someone else took a hand.

"Major Hochstetter." Schultz's voice, trembling and tentative. "May I ask you a question?"

"The Gestapo does not answer questions," Hochstetter replied, his own voice husky with exhaustion.

"Oh, I understand that, _Herr Major_." Schultz hastened to appease the man he feared more than any other. "But you have said something which I did not understand, and, begging your pardon, _Herr Major_, because nothing could be further from my mind than to overstep the mark, still, if it is not asking too much, I would be most grateful if you would be so kind..."

Hochstetter's endurance snapped so suddenly, Newkirk almost heard a twanging sound. "Just ask the question, Schultz. Ask!"

"W-w-well, _Herr Major_...it concerns...you said they were children." Schultz could hardly get the words out for stuttering. "B-b-but then you said...enemies of the state."

"So I did, Schultz," conceded the major, after a few seconds.

"Begging your pardon," Schultz blundered on, "but how is it possible for children to be enemies of the state? I have five children, I understand how they think. You make me frightened for them. Children are just children, _Herr Major_."

"You think all children are innocent, Schultz?" Hochstetter's eyes fixed on him, cold and implacable. "But every day we come across them in our investigations, taking part in acts of treason. The security of the Reich is at stake. No matter how we may feel, we cannot afford to be sentimental about such things."

He paused for a moment before he continued. "But perhaps I did not make my meaning clear. There are traitors involved in this matter - but not those three girls. They were innocent bystanders. And if they had reported the matter, as any loyal citizen of the Third Reich should not hesitate to do, then at this very minute all three of them would be alive and safe."

_Come again?_ thought Newkirk.

"No, Schultz," Hochstetter went on. "The criminal in this case is someone much harder to pin down than three silly little girls. Someone in a position of authority, who has used his position to steal from the Third Reich. And worse, to steal something that cannot be replaced, because it is the only one of its kind. And to cover that theft, he was - and is - prepared to kill."

He stopped, his eyes falling again on the candle flame; and after a few seconds, he added, in a low, dreamy voice. "I can almost understand why. I know I would be tempted."

Newkirk's hands clenched, as he listened. Hochstetter was talking in circles, every word bringing him closer to the secret at the heart of this whole affair. If only he would keep talking, for just a little longer...

And then, Hochstetter did. He leaned forward in his chair, fixing Schultz with a fierce, interrogative gaze.

"Tell me, Schultz," he said, "have you ever heard of the Amber Room?"

* * *

_Footnote: for those who have never heard of the Amber Room (for shame!), there will be more information in Chapter 21. If you can't wait, there's always Wikipedia..._


	21. Chapter 21

The approach of the munitions train could be heard long before it came into sight. Carter was drowsing, but as the distant note of the locomotive reached him he sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"It's not here yet, Carter," said Hogan, stretching his back. It had been a long, cold wait.

He stood up, his eyes scanning the trees further along for LeBeau's flashlight signal. In view of the Frenchman's general state of fatigue, he'd sent Dietrich to keep watch with him; Kinch was still watching the road. For a couple of minutes, only the sound of the train, gradually increasing, broke the silence.

Carter, without thinking, ran his fingers around the edge of the detonator box. "Colonel, did LeBeau tell you all about Irma? I mean, what happened last fall?"

"Yeah, he did," replied Hogan, still watching for the signal.

There was a long pause before Carter ventured further. "Is there anything...I mean...I know we can't just pitch in and help out everyone who needs it. We'd never get to the end of it."

"That's right, Carter. It's not what we're here for. We've got a specific long-term mission, and if we let ourselves get distracted by every hard-luck story that comes our way, we risk losing sight of the overall objective."

"Sure," murmured Carter. "So I guess there's not much we can do for them this time, huh?"

Hogan didn't answer at once. "I'm not sure yet," he said at last. "What are our operational orders, Carter?"

"Uh...our orders, yes, sir...uh..." Carter, startled by the unexpected question, screwed his eyes shut as he tried to remember. "Don't tell me, it's on the tip of my tongue...uh, we help escaping prisoners...we blow up trains and bridges...and factories..."

"Co-operate with friendly forces," Hogan interrupted, "and use every means to harass and injure the enemy. Which includes blowing up trains and bridges. And factories."

He paused for a moment, weighing up all that might be encompassed in that apparently simple statement of duties. Then he smiled, as he saw his way clear. "It also includes investigating whatever kind of no good the SS were up to when Irma saw them. To do that, we need to know where it was, and who was there, and anything else she can tell us. The way I see it, that makes Irma a valuable informant, and justifies whatever steps we take to keep her out of the Gestapo's hands. And because she needs a guardian, in the absence of her parents, whatever we do for her is going to include Zauner."

"They never said where her mom and dad are," said Carter. "Gee, I hope they're okay."

Hogan didn't reply; but he wouldn't have risked a wager on it. "There's the signal," he said. "Stand by."

Carter straightened up, his hand resting gently, almost casually, on the plunger.

LeBeau and Dietrich came racing back to the shelter of the outcrop; and a few seconds later, Kinch joined them.

"Steady, Carter," said Hogan. "Five...four...three...two...one..."

And at zero, the night's darkness blossomed into the light of destruction.

"Happy, Carter?" asked LeBeau, once the noise had died off a little.

"Boy, that was a good one." Carter's eyes gleamed in the light of the flames. "It's a shame Newkirk had to miss it."

A general snicker went round his team-mates. "Andrew, he's already had enough excitement for one night," observed Kinch dryly. "I bet when we get back to the hotel, we'll find he's been asleep the whole time."

* * *

Newkirk shifted his weight cautiously, repositioning himself to take the weight off his left buttock, which had started to go numb. He didn't take his eyes off Hochstetter, who had reclined in his chair again after throwing his little verbal grenade, and who now sat gazing silently at the small amount of _Schnapps_ remaining in his glass.

"If you please, Major Hochstetter," mumbled Schultz after a couple of minutes of silence, "I am just a prison guard. I know nothing."

_And he'd prefer to keep it that way_, thought Newkirk. For once, Schultz's determination to remain ignorant was likely to be a problem. Newkirk had no idea what the Amber Room was, either; but right now he wanted to know all about it. And from the sound of things, Hochstetter wanted to talk. Whether it was the brandy, or pure exhaustion, Newkirk didn't care. Just let the bugger keep talking, that was all.

Gisela appeared in the doorway, bringing a coffee service on a tray; but Hochstetter, with his back to the door, neither saw nor heard. She placed the tray on a table, silently, and moved back towards the door as Hochstetter started to speak again.

"They call it the most beautiful room in the world," he said, holding up the glass so the candlelight filtered through, turning the brandy to a pale golden shimmer. "I saw it once, you know, after our army brought it back from Leningrad. Schultz, you cannot possibly imagine..." He allowed the sentence to fall away.

"The army stole it from Leningrad?" Schultz's words quivered with nervous disapproval.

"No. They didn't steal it," Hochstetter snapped back. "They retrieved it. It should never have left Germany in the first place. Two hundred years ago, the king of Prussia gave it to the Tsar, as a gesture of friendship between Russia and Germany. But the treacherous dogs have since turned on us, as might have been expected. Why should they be allowed to keep it?"

He drained the last of the liquor before he spoke again. "It took years to create, and the work of the most skilled craftsmen in all of Germany. The amber alone is worth a fortune, tons of it, covering every surface. The colours, Schultz. Every possible shade, from pale yellow to almost black. The walls are made of amber. And gold, and mirrors to reflect the light." His voice levelled off, as he contemplated the image in his memory.

Schultz cleared his throat. "It sounds very pretty, _Herr Major_," he said tentatively.

"Pretty." Hochstetter roused himself enough to sneer. "One of the finest art treasures in the world, a masterpiece of eighteenth-century craftsmanship, and the best you can come up with, Schultz, is _it sounds pretty_. It's more than that, Schultz. There are collectors who would pay any price for even one of the wall panels. That would be temptation enough, don't you think?"

"Temptation enough for what?" asked Schultz.

Hochstetter's eyelids were starting to droop; his thin, condescending smile looked even more sinister than usual. "The Panzer Corps took over the Catherine Palace in October 1941. They dismantled the Amber Room under the supervision of experts, packed it into crates and sent it by rail to Königsberg, where it was reassembled. But there was a problem. Somewhere between Leningrad and Königsberg, part of the shipment had simply disappeared."

Schultz leaned forward, as far as his bulk would allow. "You mean, someone stole it from us, after we stole it from the Russians?"

"Exactly, Schultz. Somehow, one of the trucks transporting it to the rail yard took a wrong turn. Deliberately."

Behind Schultz's chair, Newkirk was scarcely breathing, as he tried to concentrate, to memorise every detail. This must have something to do with what Irma and her friends had seen, half a year ago. Hochstetter had already said enough to make the connection obvious.

"You can understand, Schultz, what a scandal it would have made, if news of the theft was made public," the major went on. "Of course, we know that works of art from occupied countries are particularly vulnerable to being...collected. As souvenirs. Or as something to fall back on, after the war. That is understandable. We try to discourage it, but investigating such matters is not a priority. But this was different. The Amber Room is too well known, and too significant a treasure. And the theft was substantial - three complete wall panels, along with some smaller decorative items. Naturally the Gestapo were called in."

"Naturally," repeated Schultz. "And such an efficient organisation as the Gestapo is, I'm sure you were able to clear it up in no time."

"Not quite, Schultz," replied Hochstetter in a low, harsh tone. "I was on the case for a year. I came within days of a breakthrough. I had the name of the man - a member of the general staff - who masterminded the theft, and of the SS commander who carried it out. I even knew where they had it hidden. And I knew they would not try to move it to another hiding place. Amber is fragile, Schultz, it must be handled with great care. If they tried to transport it in a hurry, they risked damaging it, and destroying its value. They wouldn't dare move it." He fell silent, his eyes glittering.

"Well?" asked Schultz, after a long pause. "What happened?"

"They moved it," said Hochstetter flatly. "Someone in my department warned them. By the time I got there, nothing was left, not so much as a shred of gold leaf. Not long after that, I was taken off the case, and transferred to other duties."

"So you never found it?" persisted Schultz.

"Not yet. But I haven't given up, Schultz." Hochstetter turned the empty glass in his fingers. "Captain Metz, who replaced me on the investigation, is in many respects a complete fool, but he is intelligent enough to know that his best chance of success lies in obtaining my help. So he keeps me informed."

He paused, raising his head as a low distant rumble reached his ears. "What was that?"

"I think it was just thunder," Schultz faltered. Newkirk knew better. It was definitely the rail viaduct going up, which meant they could expect Hogan and the others back before very long. Hochstetter had better get on with it.

He did, after a few seconds. "Our best lead is the SS commander, a Colonel Jäger. Metz has been keeping a close watch on him, but he has never given anything away, until about six months ago, when for no apparent reason, he went to Coburg. Two days later, he was seen in Kahlendorf, near the Austrian border. And around that time in Kahlendorf a local businessman and landowner was murdered. And that, Schultz, was Jäger's first mistake. There were witnesses. Three children. Three girls."

There was silence in the coffee room for almost a minute, before Hochstetter spoke again.

"The SS can be very ruthless, Schultz. Almost as ruthless as the Gestapo." He didn't say any more, but Newkirk had enough now to fill in the gaps. For once, perhaps Hochstetter was not the villain; or at least, he might be less of a villain than usual. It was a very disturbing thought.

After a little while, Hochstetter stirred, and turned his head. "Where is that coffee?"

"It's here, _Herr Major_," said Gisela quickly, coming forward. "I'm sorry, the stove had died down, it took longer than I expected..." She poured quickly, and brought him a cup, offering it with a kind of flustered diffidence. He regarded her narrowly for a moment.

"_Danke,_" he muttered, and took a mouthful. Gisela moved back again, watching him closely. He finished the coffee, and put the cup aside, then leaned back in his chair. His eyes closed; he gave himself a shake, and forced them open. But it was a losing battle. After a couple of minutes, they stayed closed.

Gisela bent over him, studying his face for any signs of awareness. "_Herr Major_?" This time there was no response. "You can come out now," she said, still keeping her voice low.

With a stifled groan, Newkirk crawled out of his refuge. "Blimey, I thought he'd never drop off," he remarked, as he tried to straighten. His foot had gone to sleep, and his upper arm and shoulder seemed to have locked up.

"I thought so, too," replied Gisela, flushing. "And the poor man needed to sleep. I still have some of the sedatives my late husband used during his illness, so..." She fell silent, with an uneasy glance at Schultz, who had edged forward in his chair, his eyes fixed on the sleeping Gestapo.

"Nice work, missus," Newkirk whispered. He drew her aside, and added softly, "Can you go and wake up the old gentleman? Tell him to have Irma ready to go, as soon as the Colonel gets back. We want her out of here before Prince Charming there wakes up."

Gisela nodded, and slipped away, while Newkirk turned his attention to Hochstetter. If everything he had just revealed was true, he had no reason to harm the girl, and every reason to want her safe. But he wasn't getting his hands on her.

Newkirk didn't know yet how to get the colonel on board, or even if he would be able to. But he knew one thing. Irma was not going to be left to the non-existent mercy of either the Gestapo or the SS. Whatever had happened to the other two girls, she wasn't going to end up the same way.

* * *

_Note: the details given regarding the Amber Room are correct, all except the theft. _


	22. Chapter 22

"What's next, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

He was at the wheel of the Stalag 13 truck, with Hogan beside him, and Carter and LeBeau behind. Dietrich had gone ahead in his own car, to obtain some gasoline from the garrison for the staff car; he would meet them back at the hotel.

Hogan didn't answer Kinch's question at once. He gazed out at the rain-soaked trees which crowded the road's edge. After half a minute or so, he took a deep breath.

"I don't like it, Kinch," he said, "but we'll have to take Zauner and Irma back to Stalag 13."

"Well, I kind of had that worked out," replied Kinch dryly. "You had something else in mind?"

"I'd be happier if we had time to take them straight to a safe house in Hammelburg." Hogan folded his arms. "A POW camp is no place for a kid like that, or for an old man. Trouble is, it's only a couple of hours till roll call, and it'll take us almost that long to get there. And anyway, with Schultz on board, we can't risk taking detours. We'll have to take them to camp, and keep 'em in the tunnel till we can get them out in the dog truck."

"That could take a couple of weeks. Schnitzer only replaced the dogs a few days ago."

"Yeah, well, if you can think of a better idea, let me know," said Hogan.

Kinch couldn't; after a moment he moved on. "So how do we get them back without Schultz seeing them?"

Hogan sighed. "Best way is if you take them in the staff car, leave it at the usual place on the road, and bring them in through the emergency tunnel. Take LeBeau with you in case you need help. I'll go with Schultz in the truck."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Those two are pretty quiet back there."

"Probably both asleep," observed Kinch. "We'll be lucky if either of them makes it to roll call."

"Yeah, maybe I should write a note for them. 'Dear Kommandant, please excuse Carter's absence today, he has a sore throat.' You think Klink'll go for it?"

Kinch laughed. "I think Klink'll call in the truant officer."

Neither of them spoke again till they reached the town. As the truck turned into the square, the headlights briefly illuminated the entrance to the hotel.

"What the hell...?" murmured Hogan, at sight of the man standing on the steps. He scarcely allowed the truck to stop moving before he hit the ground. "Newkirk? What's going on?"

"Things are getting a little complicated, sir," replied Newkirk, with a jerk of his head towards the interior of the hotel. "Hochstetter's in there. It's all right - he's asleep. Gisela slipped something in his coffee, to make sure of it. But we probably want to be gone before he wakes up."

"Oh, well, that's great," muttered Kinch. "Just when things are starting to wind down, he has to show up."

"There's a bright side to it," Newkirk continued. "He got talking to Schultz, before he dropped off - turns out he gets quite chatty after half a bottle of _Schnapps_. Didn't know I was there, of course, and he let a few cats out of the bag."

"You mean, about why he's after Irma?" asked Hogan, his voice sharpening.

"Yep. Tell you about it when we get back to camp, sir. But you're not going to like it." Newkirk gave a half-smile, but his eyes remained serious.

"What about Schultz?" asked Hogan

"Well, it's got him worried, Colonel. Keeps asking me if I think it's true. I think the whole story struck a nerve with him," observed Newkirk. "He's got kids of his own, you know.

"Any chance he might turn a blind eye?"

Newkirk shrugged. "He won't turn us in, he knows how much trouble he'd be in for bringing you and Kinch along, and then letting you go off without him. But I doubt he'll go along with picking up extra passengers. Hochstetter's got him well scared."

Hogan considered for a few seconds. "Okay, Kinch, we'll go with what I said before. You better wake LeBeau. Newkirk, where's Schultz now?"

"I talked him into keeping an eye on Hochstetter, till you got back. They're in the coffee room."

"Good. Dietrich's gone to get us some gas for the staff car. Get Zauner and Irma out here. We'll get them back to camp, and then work out what to do with them."

Newkirk went on the word, passing Gisela in the doorway. She came down the steps, shivering a little in the cold damp air.

"I haven't thanked you yet for your help tonight," said Hogan.

"I haven't thanked you for saving Paul for me," she replied. "I think we are equally indebted. That crazy plan of his...!"

"There's one more favour I have to ask you," Hogan went on. "And it's a big one. We're going to have to leave Hochstetter on your hands. I hate to do it, but..."

"But you have to get back to Stalag 13. I understand." She gave him a grave smile. "I'm sure it won't be a problem. I have never come under suspicion, the authorities believe I am a loyal German. As I am, but not in the way they think." The smile faded as she continued. "In any case, you must get the child to safety. Did your man tell you?"

"He said Hochstetter talked, but he hasn't given me the details yet." Hogan tilted his head slightly. "I get the impression it's something big."

"Very big. There are people involved who wouldn't hesitate..." She broke off, and her eyes fell.

Hogan waited for a few seconds before he spoke. "We'll do what we can. But I want you to promise me something. Any hint of trouble, you get out of here. Do you have contacts in Hammelburg? You can get in touch with me through them. Same applies to Dietrich. You better have a recognition code." He glanced up at the hotel façade. "Use the phrase 'Winter Sun'."

"I'm sure it won't be necessary," murmured Gisela. "We're quite safe."

"That's what they all say," observed Hogan. "Usually right before the Gestapo start breaking down their front door. Let's not take the risk, okay?" He looked past her as Newkirk reappeared, accompanied by the doctor and Irma. It would have been a hard call, working out which of the three of them looked worst.

Hogan took a couple of steps towards them. "Okay, this is the last haul," he said. "The car will take you almost all the way, but there will be a little walking at the end, so don't fall asleep if you can help it. Once we get you to home base, you'll be safe enough while we organise the next stage."

"Thank you," murmured Zauner. "I can't tell you..."

"Don't thank me yet," replied Hogan, with a grin. "You haven't seen where you'll be staying. It's not exactly the Ritz."

"If it is safe, that is all we can hope for," said Zauner. He had his arm around Irma, as if afraid he would lose her again the moment he let her go. He looked old and tired in the yellow light from the headlamps of the truck.

Hogan held back from reassuring him; the uncharacteristically grave look in Newkirk's eye gave him pause. "Go with Kinch," he said instead. "He'll get you safely stowed in the car."

He waited till they were out of earshot, then spoke quickly in an undertone. "Okay, Newkirk, what's it about?"

"Long story, Colonel," muttered Newkirk, again with the ghost of a smile. "You ever heard of something called the Amber Room?"

"Vaguely rings a bell," said Hogan slowly. "Part of some Russian palace, looted by the Nazis, right? What's it got to do with...oh. Right. I get it. Some of the loot ended up where it wasn't supposed to. And I suppose those girls had the bad luck to run across some of it when it was being moved."

"That's what it looks like - hello, we got company."

Hogan turned, narrowing his eyes against the headlights of the approaching car. "It's Dietrich. Newkirk, you better go and make sure Schultz stays out of the way till we're ready for him. You should go inside too," he added, turning to Gisela. "Remember - Winter Sun."

"I will remember," said Gisela softly.

Dietrich had brought a couple of jerrycans from the back seat of his car, and Kinch, with LeBeau's help, was emptying them into the tank of the staff car. The two extra passengers were already out of sight, nestled on the floor between the front and back seats.

"The little girl's already fallen asleep again, Colonel," said Kinch, as Hogan approached. "And I don't think you could wake Carter with a brass band. You might need to write that note for the Kommandant after all."

"We'll see about that. I'd prefer to keep Klink in the dark about tonight's doings." Hogan leaned against the side of the car. "Dietrich, thanks for all you've done tonight. If you hadn't picked those two up on the road..."

"I think we would all have been worse off," murmured Dietrich, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, you're right about that. Now, there's one more detail," Hogan went on. "I've just been told there's a Gestapo major asleep in the coffee room. We know he's after our friends, and on top of that he knows me and my men. On all counts we can't afford to be seen by him, so we're going to have to leave him for Frau Stadler to deal with. She may need your help."

Dietrich glanced instinctively towards the hotel; started to speak, then stopped, swallowed and began again. "I will see to it, sir."

"Good man. And if the situation gets too risky here, then get her out of it."

"I will, if she will let me. She can be stubborn," said Dietrich. "

"Then you'll have to convince her. I don't know the whole story yet, but from what I've heard, I guess there's not much the guys involved would stick at." Hogan straightened up, and gave Dietrich a slight grin. "But I think there's one consideration that'll bring her round. If she won't listen to reason for her own sake, tell her to do it for yours."


	23. Chapter 23

"Colonel Hogan, I do not like it. I don't like it at all."

"No reason why you should, Schultz," said Hogan, with a sideways glance at the sergeant sitting beside him in the cabin of the lorry. "I can't say I'm crazy about it myself. But least said, soonest mended, right?"

Schultz gave this thesis some thought before he replied. "Up to a point. But I have to tell the Kommandant something. I should have been gone from Stalag 13 no more than two hours, three at the most. How can I explain being out all night? And I didn't even bring Langenscheidt back from Heiligen, because he wasn't there. What Klink is going to do to me...! Please, Colonel Hogan, I'm too old to start learning a foreign language, especially Russian."

"Don't worry about it, Schultz. I'll think of something," replied Hogan cheerfully. But behind the blandly confident exterior, he was worried. He had no anxieties about squaring Klink, that was routine business. Hogan's concerns lay elsewhere. What should have been a simple mission had blown out into something very close to disaster.

He doubted either Newkirk or Carter would be fit for anything strenuous in the immediate future, and getting their two protegés out of Germany was likely to prove a major headache. Apart from those matters the worst was over, as far as this mission was concerned. But Hogan had a feeling this Amber Room business could cause some big problems. The political implications alone were more than he cared to get himself and his team involved in. He knew he should keep out of it; and he knew equally well he probably wouldn't.

By intention, Kinch had allowed the staff car to drop a little way behind as they got close to home; and once the truck had rounded the last bend before Stalag 13, he turned off onto a narrow track leading to a small clearing. This was the usual pick-up and drop-off point for vehicles; the sergeant in charge of the motor pool would collect the car while the rest of the guards were busy with morning assembly.

"Should we leave a note about the damage to the suspension?" suggested Kinch, as he removed all evidence of their presence from the vehicle.

LeBeau, who had no great affection for Sergeant Clausing, sniggered. "No, let it be a surprise."

He woke Irma gently; her grandfather had not slept on the journey.

"Not far now," said Kinch, seeing how weary they both looked. "Louis, you go in front. Take Irma with you. I'll help the doctor along. Keep moving, don't wait for us if we're a little slow. Just get her home safe. We'll be right behind you."

LeBeau nodded agreement, took Irma by the hand and disappeared into the trees.

"There is danger here?" Zauner's voice was husky with exhaustion. "You should leave me. As long as Irma is safe..."

"I don't think so." Kinch interrupted before he finished. "In the first place, they find you anywhere near Stalag 13, they'll tear the place apart looking for her. And in the second place, she needs someone from her family. We'll get there, all right."

But he had hard work to control his own anxiety, and all his senses were on high alert as they made their way to the emergency tunnel, and the safety of underground.

Hogan's party made it to the motor pool without hindrance; waking Carter was much more of a challenge, and sufficient distraction to prevent Schultz from immediately noticing the staff car hadn't followed them through the gate. He certainly made up for it, when it did sink in, although his agitation did not express itself in any coherent form.

"I thought he said he couldn't learn a foreign language at his age," remarked Newkirk, leaning over the tailgate so as to better observe the phenomenon.

"Keep listening, he'll start speaking Chinese any second," replied Hogan. "Oh, for Pete's sake, is Carter going back to sleep already?"

"Looks like it." Newkirk stretched out one foot and poked Carter in the ribs. "Andrew... time to get up."

"Just a couple more minutes, Mom," mumbled Carter, without opening his eyes.

"Colonel Hogan - w-w-where is Kinchloe? Where is the cockroach? And the Kommandant's car - oh, this time you went too far. I have to report this." With an almost superhuman effort, Schultz had regained the power of speech, or at least of hysterical babbling.

Hogan helped Newkirk to descend. "Can you see yourself and Carter back to the barracks?" he murmured. "I'd better calm Schultz down, before he wakes up the entire camp."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned back to the sergeant of the guard. "Well, let's see, Schultz. How far did we actually go? And how much of it was in your company, without the Kommandant's permission? You really want him to know about that?"

"No," admitted Schultz after a moment of thought. "But what is going to happen at roll call?"

"They'll be here in time for assembly. You have my word." Hogan leaned against the side of the truck. "Of course, if you insist, Schultz, we can tell Klink the whole story from start to finish. In fact, let's go right now, and wake him up. I know we'll both feel better for it, no matter how mad he gets with us. Say, how do you think you'll like combat service?"

Schultz uttered a surprisingly high-pitched whining sound, took a deep breath, then composed himself. Over the past couple of years he'd learned it was sometimes better in these situations to take a flexible, even a fatalistic attitude. "Colonel Hogan, I am surprised at you. The Kommandant needs his sleep, he has a very demanding job. Why should we give him the extra worry of thinking there might be prisoners missing? You think LeBeau and Kinch would miss roll call? Of course they would not...would they?" He finished on an anxious interrogative, gazing at Hogan with apprehensive, red-rimmed eyes.

"Definitely not, Schultz," replied Hogan, grinning. "Who'd want to miss that?"

He strolled off, as relaxed as if he were in the habit of going for a walk around camp before the end of curfew. Still, he took care, as he left the motor pool, to keep to the shelter of the high fence. Night was gradually giving way to a cold, grey dawn; and after the night he and his men had just been through, he had no particular desire to complicate things by attracting the attention of the sentries on the guard towers.

Newkirk and Carter only just got to the barracks ahead of him, but by the time he made it inside, Carter had already crawled, fully dressed, into his bunk; and it seemed the only thing keeping Newkirk out of his own was the difficulty of getting up there with an injured shoulder. Most of the other men were up and getting dressed.

"Kinch and LeBeau aren't back?" asked Hogan.

"Not yet," replied Newkirk, with a yawn. "Sorry, sir, can't help myself. I could sleep for a week."

"Well, you can't. Roll call is less than twenty minutes away, and you have to get out of that uniform. Carter, get up. That's an order."

Carter mumbled something unintelligible, but pushed himself up to a sitting position, with a low groan ending in a cough. "Oh, boy, am I ever sore," he muttered.

"Okay, Carter, I know." Hogan helped him to his feet, and started getting him out of the stained and crumpled German uniform. "Once we've got roll call out of the way, you can take it easy for the rest of the day. You too, Newkirk."

"That's one order I won't argue with, Colonel," said Newkirk, wincing as he tried to get the jacket off without jarring his shoulder. Without being asked, a couple of the other men came to his assistance.

The bunk over the tunnel entrance rose abruptly, and Hogan glanced across. "All okay?" he asked, as Kinch emerged.

"They're in the sleeping quarters," replied Kinch. "The doctor's pretty broken up, now they're safe. I don't think we'll be able to move them on for a few days."

He stepped off the ladder, and turned to help LeBeau who was following. The Frenchman looked tired, but was clearly in better shape than Newkirk or Carter. He didn't wait to be told, but started changing rapidly into his own uniform.

"Well, we weren't planning to send them on immediately," observed Hogan.

LeBeau threw his greatcoat down on the table, and unbuttoned his shirt. "You better tell the Colonel, Kinch," he said.

"I'm getting to it," Kinch sighed. "Bad news, Colonel. We got a problem with the emergency tunnel. You know we got some water seeping in round the tree stump back at the start of winter? We tried to fix it a couple of times, but obviously it hasn't worked, and with the spring thaw, and all the rain these last couple of days..." He finished with a shrug and a grimace.

"Oh, great. This just keeps getting better." Hogan cast up his eyes. "How bad is it?"

"Let's put it this way," said Kinch. "It's a good thing you were planning to send our visitors out with Schnitzer in the dog truck."

"You mean - "

"Yep." Kinch met Hogan's eyes with a slightly apologetic grimace. "For the time being, the emergency tunnel's out of commission."


	24. Chapter 24

"You wanted to see me, _Herr Kommandant_?" Schultz, cowering at the door of the Kommandant's office, announced his presence in a tiny voice, the better not to be noticed. It didn't work.

"Come in, Schultz," said Klink affably. "Close the door. At ease." He leaned back in his chair, the gleaming dome of his bald head slightly tilted, a fixed smile on his lips. Schultz crept to the desk, trying to look as small as possible.

"You know, Schultz, just now at roll call I noticed you didn't seem to have your usual brisk efficiency," Klink went on. "In fact, you look quite worn out."

"Well, it was a long night, _Herr Kommandant_," mumbled Schultz.

"A very long night," agreed Klink. "But not as long as the nights in Russia." He was still smiling, but Schultz noticed the malevolent glitter in his eyes, and shrank even further.

"Now, Schultz, suppose we review the situation." Klink stood up, and walked around the desk to stand in front of the sergeant. "Last night, you asked for permission to go to Heiligen, where Langenscheidt was waiting to be picked up. Now, from here to Heiligen should take no longer than an hour, plus another hour for the return trip. But you were gone all night."

"Yes, _Herr Kommandant_," said Schultz.

"And did you bring Langenscheidt back with you?"

"No, _Herr Kommandant_."

"I see." Klink folded his arms. "Do you have any explanation?"

"I hope so," muttered Schultz. Then, as he met the Kommandant's iciest blue glare, he continued, "I mean, of course I have an explanation, _Herr Kommandant_. I just have to think of it." His voice dropped almost to a whisper.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense, Schultz, I'm all ears."

Schultz cleared his throat; opened his mouth, closed it again, swallowed, then tried again. "It was like this, _Herr Kommandant_...actually, it is a very long story, and not very interesting, I'm sure you have more important things to..."

"Schultz!" barked the Kommandant. "Stop trying to wriggle out of it, and...not now, Hogan, can't you see I'm busy?"

Hogan, who had just bounced through the door, came to a stop. "Sorry, Kommandant, but it's urgent," he said. "I need to know what your plans are in respect of the emergency."

"What emergency?" Klink stared at him, dumbfounded.

"The flood situation, of course." Hogan's eyebrows went up. "You mean you haven't given it any thought?"

"What are you talking about?" said the Kommandant. "We're nowhere near the flood zone. There's absolutely no danger..."

"Are you kidding? We're practically floating away out there. I don't know if you noticed, Colonel, but it's been raining for four days without a break. That's a lot of water, and it's got to go somewhere. And where it's going is right into the huts."

Klink cast up his eyes. "Is that all, Hogan? You burst in here without even knocking, just to complain about a little damp weather? For heaven's sake, there's nothing to make a fuss about."

"That's easy for you to say," scoffed Hogan. "Your quarters are built up off the ground. Well, let me tell you, Kommandant, it's a whole different ball game where we are. You want to know how bad it is? Barracks 9 have just challenged Barracks 10 to a water polo match. To be held inside the barracks."

"How are they going to get the horses in there?" asked Schultz, but neither officer was paying any attention.

"Please, Hogan, don't be ridiculous," snapped Klink. "All right, perhaps a little rain found its way into some of the buildings, but that's to be expected."

"A little rain? The rats have started deserting the mess hall." Hogan folded his arms. "Yeah, okay, I know it's not as bad here as it is on the road to Heiligen, but..."

"Just one moment, Hogan." Klink fell straight into the trap. "What do you know about the road to Heiligen?"

"Oops. Sorry, Schultz," said Hogan, hanging his head. "I know you didn't want the Kommandant to hear about what a terrible time you had getting there, and how you were nearly washed off the road, and ended up stuck in Heiligen for hours waiting for the water to go down. Schultz told us all about it at assembly, Colonel. He made us promise not to say anything. Gosh, why do I have to be such a blabbermouth?"

"Schultz, is this true?" Klink's monocle turned towards the sergeant. "Is that why you were gone so long?"

"Well, I didn't like to say anything, _Herr Kommandant_," replied Schultz after a few moments. "On account of I didn't want to worry you."

The Kommandant gave a cynical grunt, his eyes travelling to Hogan, then back to Schultz. "And what about Langenscheidt?"

Schultz sent a panicky glance towards Hogan. "Well...well, when I got to Heiligen, _Herr Kommandant_, Langenscheidt was...that is to say, he was not...I mean, it was..."

"Lingenschmidt," said Hogan. "Captain Lingenschmidt, from Stalag 18. That's what you told me, wasn't it, Schultz?"

"Uh...yes, that's what..."

"And I don't blame you for being mad at them for dragging you out there, not one bit. But to be fair, Schultz, it was an easy mistake for them to make, what with everything else they had going on out there. I think you should go easy on 'em."

"Hogan, are you saying it was a mistake?" demanded Klink. "That it wasn't Langenscheidt who was out there at all? Schultz...?"

"_Herr Kommandant_," replied Schultz, "I can honestly say that there is no question about it. It was not Langenscheidt. That is the absolute truth."

_Just not all of the truth_, thought Hogan; but not even a hint of the thought appeared on his face.

"Well..." Klink went back to his chair behind the desk. "Well, that does put a different perspective on the matter." He pursed his lips as he considered the new information. "I will have to give it some further consideration."

"Well, while you're doing that, sir, can we get back to the problem in the barracks?" said Hogan. "Something's got to be done about it."

"Something will be done, Hogan," replied Klink. "Schultz, tell the supply sergeant to issue mops and buckets to the prisoners. Dismissed."

"But, Kommandant...!"

"Dismissed, Hogan."

"All right, Kommandant, if that's your attitude." Hogan's chin went up. "But if in a couple of days you want to join the rowing club, you can forget it."

He stalked out, bristling with offended dignity, which vanished as soon as he was out of Klink's sight. Turning his collar up, he headed for the barracks, skirting the worst of the broad puddles lying in his path.

"Coffee, _mon Colonel_?" LeBeau, very hollow around the eyes, turned around as the door opened, the coffee pot in his hand.

"No, thanks. And you better give it a miss, too. Get yourself some shut-eye," replied Hogan.

"I'm not sleepy," LeBeau began, but Hogan was taking no argument.

"That's an order, LeBeau," he said firmly.

He went to check on the other two. Newkirk opened one eye, but was too close to sleep to do anything more. Carter didn't even stir.

"What happened to Carter's nose?" asked Hogan. He'd noticed the swelling, and the first signs of bruising coming out under Carter's eyes, during roll-call.

"The car went into a ditch," said LeBeau. "He hit the back of the seat, face first. I guess we forgot to tell you that part."

Hogan shook his head. "When you three have a night out, you sure make the most of it. Now get some sleep, okay?" He tapped on the release mechanism of the tunnel bunk, and descended.

He glanced into the sleeping quarters on his way past, to assure himself their guests were comfortable. Both of them were as deeply asleep as Carter, and he didn't risk disturbing them; they needed the recovery time. The girl looked sturdy enough, and Zauner seemed quite robust for an old man, but they had been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours, and had another testing journey to look forward to, as soon as it could be arranged.

Satisfied they were okay for now, Hogan went on towards the emergency tunnel. Kinch was already down there, together with Sergeant Joliffe from Barracks 3. As the colonel arrived, Joliffe completed his examination of the tunnel wall, and took a step back, with a satisfied nod.

"No doubt about it," he said. "That's water, all right."

"We know that," replied Hogan, restraining his impatience. "It doesn't take a structural engineer to tell us that. What we need you to tell us is how to stop it from getting into the tunnel."

"Tricky. Very tricky." Joliffe frowned in thought. He tilted his head, gazing at the water running down the wall behind the ladder; gazed at the puddle on the floor as if he had no idea what it was, then returned to his contemplation of the wall again. Finally, he straightened up, stuck his hands in his pockets, and announced his verdict: "The easiest solution would probably be to seal it off."

"Seal off the emergency tunnel?" Hogan shot a startled look at Kinch. That wasn't an option.

"Yep, close it down, maybe make a new exit a bit closer to camp," said Joliffe.

Hogan sighed. "Any closer to camp, and we'll be coming up right underneath the guard tower. I don't think that's going to work."

Joliffe made a tutting sound, and resumed his inspection. "Fine. But any other solution's going to be a bit inconvenient."

He turned, following the path taken by the trickle of water. "Perhaps we can rig some kind of runoff system. I'll give it some thought. It's flowing away from camp, anyway. What's down there?"

"Nothing," said Kinch. "Couple of months ago, we tried to extend the emergency tunnel, but it didn't work out. We cut into an old mine shaft, had to let it go."

The engineer's dour expression brightened. "I might be able to use that. Maybe we can knock in some kind of conduit along the slope above the exit, divert the water directly towards the mine shaft."

"That's a major project," said Kinch doubtfully. "The whole slope is visible from camp. We start doing any major construction work, the guards'll spot us right away, and shut us down."

A slow grin started to form on Hogan's face. "No, they won't," he replied. "Not if Klink orders us to do the work."

"You think he's going to do that?"

"I'm sure of it," said Hogan, his left eyebrow going up as it always did when he'd had an inspiration. "All I have to do is convince him it's his own idea."


	25. Chapter 25

The process of getting the Kommandant to authorise the construction of the ditch above the emergency tunnel followed the established routine: create the problem; make it Klink's problem; suggest a solution while refusing to take part in it.

In this instance, the problem was already there, a side benefit of Hogan's conversation with the Kommandant that morning. They just had to get Klink worried about it.

The rain had stopped by early afternoon, temporarily driven off by a brisk, icy wind which caused the little group of men standing in front of the delousing station to shiver and stamp their feet, as they examined the waterlogged ground. Any time the prisoners got together for serious discussion, the guards got suspicious; and it didn't take long for Schultz to come and investigate.

He tried to be covert about it, creeping around the side of the delousing station in order to eavesdrop, and Kinch had to work hard to ignore his presence. He raised his voice a little to make sure Schultz could hear him. "So let me get this straight, Joliffe. You're saying this isn't just from all the rain we've had."

Joliffe uttered a meditative grunt, and cocked an eye at him. "I've seen it happen before," he replied dourly. "Couple of days, there'll be enough water running down here to float the Kommandant's quarters clear to the coast."

A murmur of approval went round the half-dozen or so onlookers.

"And you're sure it's run-off from further up the slope?" asked Kinch, with a doubtful look at the puddle at his feet.

"It's run-off, all right. Take a closer look, you can see the ripples."

"Oh, yeah," said Kinch. "Hey, it's running fast, isn't it?"

Joliffe nodded. "I reckon unless something's done about it, the whole compound's going to be flooded by tomorrow."

He turned to gaze at the slope above the main gate. "Of course, it would be easy enough to divert the flow away from the camp," he added. "We could get it done in a day or two. If we wanted to help the Krauts out. Which we don't."

"No argument there, buddy," said Kinch. "Guess the best thing to do then is to go and pack up our stuff. If they decide to move us out, I want to be ready."

The prisoners dispersed, each man heading off on the same errand. At the door of Barracks 2, Kinch paused to look back. Sure enough, Schultz was hurrying towards the Kommandant's office. Kinch grinned, and went on inside, straight to Hogan's office.

"Phase one complete, Colonel," he reported. " I think Schultz bought it."

Hogan, sitting at the desk reading, nodded. "We'll give Klink half an hour, then I'll go and finish the job, if he doesn't send for me first. The boys still asleep?"

"Newkirk was awake when I came through."

"Good." Hogan put his book down, and went out into the barracks. Newkirk was indeed awake, and as Hogan emerged from his quarters, LeBeau sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"You look a whole lot better, Louis," remarked Kinch. "Sleep well?"

"_Comme un loir_," replied LeBeau indistinctly, as he slid out of his bunk and headed for the stove.

Hogan had gone to the bunk by the door. "How are you feeling?" he asked Newkirk in a low voice, so as not to disturb Carter's continuing slumber.

"Like someone dropped me from a plane, without a parachute," said Newkirk, in the same muted tone.

"Think you can manage a bit of paperwork? It's probably a good idea if you can write down as much as possible of what Hochstetter said last night, while it's still fresh in your memory," Hogan explained. "Then, if you're up to it, you and LeBeau can start work on outfitting Zauner and Irma. I want them ready to leave the at the earliest opportunity, and they'll need clothes."

Newkirk propped himself on his elbow, uttering a soft grunt at the discomfort it caused. "He won't be any trouble. We've always got a few civilian suits on hand, they just need to be fitted. But Irma's going to be a problem. We'll have to make everything from scratch. And I don't know if you thought of it, Colonel..." He hesitated, momentarily embarrassed. "She won't have any underthings, apart from what she arrived in, and those would be in a bit of a state, what with one thing and another. And I don't quite know how to set about it."

"Me, I have no idea, either," added LeBeau, bringing a mug of coffee for his English friend. "It would be much easier if she was younger, or older. But at that age..."

It was a situation they hadn't faced before, and Hogan, for once, was stumped. "Well...well, I guess..." He broke off, a worried frown developing between his eyebrows. "We'll just have to manage," he said at last. "I don't see us being able to get to Hammelburg to do some shopping, even if any of us knew what to get."

"It may not be that complicated, sir," Newkirk went on. "She's not particularly...well, she seems to be a bit of a late bloomer, if you know what I mean."

"Okay." Hogan cut the discussion short. "I'll come up with something. Let me think about it."

He straightened, stretching his shoulders muscles. "I'd better go down and have a talk to Zauner, if he's awake. Let Carter have his sleep out," he added, with a glance at the lower bunk. Carter was still fast asleep, his swollen nasal passages producing a faint whistling with each breath. Apart from the increasingly visible bruising he'd received during the ditching of the staff car, he looked okay.

"He was coughing again earlier," remarked Newkirk, getting into position for a cautious descent from the upper bunk. "Didn't sound good."

"That would be from all the water he sucked in when he was in the river," said LeBeau. "I will make him a _tisane_ when he wakes up."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, LeBeau," sighed Newkirk. "Hasn't he suffered enough?"

LeBeau opened his mouth to protest, then bit it back, hushing himself with a finger over the lips.

"I'll put some honey in it," he whispered. "I have just a little, I was saving for a special occasion."

"Well, if this is a special occasion, remind me to stay away on your birthday, LeBeau," Kinch put in.

Hogan grinned, and headed for the tunnel.

He found Zauner awake, sitting on his own cot in the sleeping quarters, watching over his granddaughter who was sleeping as deeply as Carter, though much more quietly. Without speaking, Hogan sat beside the old man.

After a while, Zauner sighed. "My poor little girl," he said, his voice trembling.

"Yeah, I know," replied Hogan. "But stop blaming yourself. If I'd been in your shoes, I'd have made a run for it, too, floods or no floods."

He regarded the doctor keenly for a moment. Zauner looked tired, but he was already pulling up. If Irma turned out to be equally resilient, their chances of making it on the next stage of the journey would be much improved.

"What will happen to us now?" Zauner asked.

"You'll have to stay down here for a few days, until we can move you out. We'll provide you with money, clothes and documents, and the Underground will get you to the coast, where you'll be picked up and taken to England." Hogan turned his attention to the sleeping child. "In the meantime, we need to know anything Irma can tell us about what happened. I know it's a lot to ask, but for her own safety it's best if she's not the only one who knows where the SS were stashing that stuff."

"I understand," said the doctor slowly. "It will not be easy for her, but I will talk to her, and I am sure she will do her best."

"Good." Hogan pressed his lips together, thinking. "We might be able to get hold of a map of the area, if it'll make things easier. The Kommandant has a full set of military maps stored in his office. Can you tell me where Irma lived before all this happened?"

"In Kahlendorf, near the Austrian border," replied Zauner. "My son-in-law works at the water treatment plant there."

"Not so far away, then," murmured Hogan thoughtfully. But it was a hell of a long way from Leningrad, where the Amber Room had started its journey.

"It was agreed, when Irma came to me, that if anything should happen, her parents would make no attempt to reach her," Zauner went on. "We thought it best, in case they were being watched." He said no more, but the expression on his face told clearly how difficult the decision had been, and Hogan, who had never even contemplated having children of his own, was moved to wonder whether he would have been able to follow through on such a resolution.

He put his hand on Zauner's shoulder. "You did the right thing. Now you can let us handle it, okay?"

Zauner didn't reply, but he relaxed a little. Hogan stood up, and turned to leave; but stopped as something occurred to him.

"There's just one other thing," he said. "I'd almost forgotten it, there was so much going on last night. When we picked up Newkirk from the field hospital, the army doctor there mentioned some risk of infection, from being in the water. I don't know a lot about it, but he gave us a list of symptoms to watch out for. You and Irma are probably at just as much risk - perhaps more. Newkirk's got a pretty strong constitution."

"I know a little about such diseases," replied Zauner. "I was attached to an infantry unit in France during the last war, as a medical officer. There were a few outbreaks in the trenches. We found them very difficult to contain. Sometimes we were not even sure what was the cause - dirty water, or food poisoning, or influenza. The symptoms are not always clear."

"Well, if either you or Irma feel unwell at all, let me know." Hogan glanced at the girl. "How long would it normally take for someone to get sick?" he asked suddenly.

"Two or three days - maybe as much as a week." Zauner turned to him, his brow creasing. "Is something wrong, Colonel?"

Hogan hesitated before he spoke. "Carter's had a cough since last night. It could just be all the water he breathed in has caused some irritation, but..."

Zauner nodded. "I would not expect any symptoms as early as this, but it's possible. There was an epidemic back then, we never determined the source. It began with a cough, aching muscles, chills or fever, then a rash. My superior was certain it came from the water in the trenches. It was not a serious illness, most men recovered quickly with rest. But this may be something different."

"Or it may be nothing." Hogan took a deep breath. "Anything we can do?"

Zauner shrugged. "I am sorry, Colonel. All you can do is watch him, and treat the symptoms as they appear. He seems a healthy young man, he has every chance."

It wasn't much consolation. If Carter had picked up something from the floodwater, then it wasn't looking good for Newkirk, whose longer exposure put him in even more danger. Even if those two had the reserve strength to meet a potentially catastrophic illness, the same could not be said for the old man and the young girl.

Only ten minutes ago, Hogan had thought he had things under control. But now he knew better. He wasn't even close.


	26. Chapter 26

The Kommandant's secretary was busy rearranging the contents of one of the filing cabinets. For some reason, Schultz had a lot of trouble with alphabetical order, and Hilda had to spend at least an hour every week sorting the files. So deeply immersed was she in her work that she didn't even flinch when a soft kiss fell on the back of her neck.

"Colonel Hogan," she murmured.

"How'd you guess?" Hogan tickled her ear with one finger. "Is he busy?"

"Schultz just took one of the other prisoners in," replied Hilda.

"Good. Go tell him I'm here, will you, honey?"

Hilda gave him a slow smile, and went to the door of the inner office. "Colonel Hogan to see you, _Herr Kommandant_," she announced.

"Send him in." Klink sounded irritable, which was always a good start. Hogan winked at Hilda, and went on into the office. Schultz was blocking the door, and it was necessary to peer around his substantial bulk. Sure enough, Joliffe was already there, looking about as recalcitrant as humanly possible.

Hogan edged past Schultz. "Sorry I'm late, Kommandant. Schultz forgot to let me know you wanted to see me."

"That might just be because I didn't want to see you, Hogan," replied Klink. "My business is with Sergeant Joliffe, not with you."

Hogan's expression folded into a mask of slightly wounded priggishness. "Sir, you know you shouldn't be talking to my men without me being here," he pointed out.

Klink glowered. "If it makes you feel any better, Hogan, I certainly haven't gained anything by it. How much do you know about this?"

"About what, Kommandant?"

"Schultz overheard this man," Klink went on, gesturing towards Joliffe, "talking to some of the other prisoners about a supposed risk of flooding."

"Well, gee, sir, that's what I was trying to tell you this morning, but you wouldn't listen" Hogan protested. "It's always the same. Whenever I try to talk to you it's _Dismissed, Hogan_." His voice dropped into an almost exact imitation of Klink's nervous whine. "But the minute Schultz comes telling tales on us..."

"Hogan, please." Klink stood up, and leaned forward with his hands on the desk. "We're facing a major crisis here. I don't think I need to tell you what it might mean."

"No, sir, I understand completely," replied Hogan after a moment of thought. " And I have to say, I admire the way you're facing up to the inevitable. Do you panic, just because your command is about to be broken up? No, sir, you don't."

Klink's eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you talking about, Hogan?"

"Evacuation of Stalag 13, of course," said Hogan. "Dispersal of the prisoners to other camps, which will leave you and your men free for other duties. Combat postings, probably. Just what you've always wanted."

"They are not going to break up my command," Klink snapped. "Our record here is perfect, no escapes, not ever. General Burkhalter wouldn't even consider it."

"Uh-huh. Sure, you're probably right, Kommandant," murmured Hogan, with a sweetly mocking smile.

The Kommandant's hands clenched in frustration, but he maintained a veneer of control. "Schultz says the men were talking about digging some kind of channel to divert the water. Is this correct?"

Hogan glanced at Joliffe. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but that's no business of ours. You need anything like that done, you'll have to call in your own experts."

"I keep trying to tell him that," grumbled Joliffe. "He never listens..."

"Silence!" Klink snapped. "Joliffe, you're dismissed. You too, Schultz."

"But I didn't say anything," Schultz protested.

"Out!" The Kommandant pounded the desk with his fist, and with a last reproachful look, Schultz lumbered off in Joliffe's wake.

Klink turned his attention back to his chief opponent. "Hogan, you know you can't fool me," he said. "You want me to think you're not concerned about this, but I can read you like a book. You're no happier about the idea of evacuation than I am."

"Well, I must admit, it's a bit rough on the guys in Barracks 9," conceded Hogan. "They only just got the mural finished, they've been working on it for months. Have you seen it yet, sir? It's pretty impressive, considering how long it's been since any of them have actually seen a woman. But I'm sure they'll be able to start again...wherever they end up."

"No, it's inconceivable. There is no question of closing Stalag 13...is there?" Klink's voice, starting out confident, wavered before pitching headfirst into anxiety.

"Well, look at the facts, Kommandant. I mean, it costs a lot to run a place like this. And now the war's not going so well for your side, the brass are looking for every chance they can get to cut expenses. So look at it from Burkhalter's point of view - what's he going to do, cut down on the number of Stalags, or start ordering cheaper brandy for himself? Yeah, we both know which option he'll go for."

"You're right." Klink sank slowly into his seat. "This is a disaster. Hogan, what can we do?"

Hogan rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, if I were you, I'd consider packing the Meissen now. You don't want to leave it till the last minute. I mean, it's easy for us, because we don't have anything. Once I grab my pay book, and the papier maché fruit bowl Carter made for my birthday..."

"Hogan! There will be no evacuation, let me make that quite clear."

"Well, it's not like we want to go, Kommandant." Hogan dropped quickly into petulance. "I mean, who knows what kind of place some of us might end up in? Some of those other Kommandants are absolute monsters. And to be honest, Stalag 13 may not be much, the barracks may be pretty crummy, the compound may be bare, but we've gotten used to the rustic simplicity of the place. It's like a home away from home, sir, and we'll miss it. No other Stalag could ever be the same to us."

Klink grasped eagerly at the lifeline so artlessly thrown out. "But, Hogan, it needn't come to that. If you and your men would be prepared to dig this channel Joliffe was talking about..."

"You've got to be kidding," interrupted Hogan, instantly on the defensive. "You know how much work would be involved? Well, no, neither do I, but that's not the point. You can't put prisoners to work on what's essentially a military project."

"Digging a ditch? That's not military. You said this place is just like home. Look on it as a home improvement project," suggested Klink.

"No, I'm sorry, Kommandant," replied Hogan resolutely. "Get your own men to do it."

"My own men? Hogan, have you seen them?" Klink waved the suggestion aside. "If any of them were fit enough for that kind of work, they wouldn't have ended up here, they'd be on the Russian Front. And it's no good trying to get outside help, every military unit in the area is dealing with the floods at Heiligen and Bernsdorf."

Hogan folded his arms, frowning thoughtfully; and Klink, encouraged, leaned forward. "I'm not asking you to do this for my sake, Hogan. Do it for your men. Think what it will mean to them, if Stalag 13 closes down."

"I am thinking about it, sir," replied Hogan. "All right. We'll do it. I'll talk to the men, and we'll put a work detail together. Only you have to let Joliffe give the orders, sir. After all, he's the expert."

"Agreed. And Hogan, make sure your men understand one thing," added Klink. "All prisoners working outside the wire will be under heavy guard. And if there is any attempt at escape, the order will be, shoot to kill."

"Oh, come on, Kommandant," Hogan protested. "If the guards want to escape, we're not going to stop 'em. We're certainly not about to start shooting...oh, you mean _your_ men will shoot if _my _men try to escape. Okay, that sounds more like the usual procedure." He gave a soft chuckle. "Boy, you had me confused there."

"Hogan!" Klink's teeth were so tightly clenched, the word could hardly force its way out. "Just go and sort it out with your men. Dismissed."

"Oh, I'll get it sorted, all right, sir," said Hogan, as he saluted.

He paused in the outer office; Hilda rated a salute of a different kind. It made a nice break from the anxieties of the situation, and Hogan felt quite refreshed by the time he left the building and headed for the barracks.

Kinch was watching out for him, and opened the door just enough to let him past. It was hardly warmer inside; the icy wind forcing its way through the cracks in the walls made a joke of the feeble heat from the stove.

"How'd it go, Colonel?" asked Newkirk, who was up and dressed, sitting close to the stove. He looked as if the day's rest had done him some good, and unconsciously Hogan relaxed slightly.

"Well, Klink seems to have fallen for it," replied Hogan. "I'm supposed to be talking Joliffe around right now - LeBeau, can you run over and let him know? Finish what you're doing, there's no hurry."

"_Oui, mon Colonel_," replied LeBeau, continuing to prepare the vegetables for dinner.

Hogan turned his attention to Carter. He seemed better, too; he was awake, sitting on his bunk, with a blanket around his shoulders, and if he shivered occasionally, so did half the men in the barracks. There was nothing in that. Still, better not to take chances. There was a doctor available, after all.

"Kinch, go down to the tunnel, and see if Zauner can come up and take a look at Carter and Newkirk," Hogan went on. "Irma better come up, too. She can't be left on her own down there. Addison, watch the door."

"Have to say it, sir, I'm not looking forward to this," Newkirk put in. "I can put up with most things, but the trots...well, I don't fancy that at all."

"It's not exactly going to be a picnic for the rest of us, either," Kinch called back, as he disappeared down the ladder to the tunnel.

Newkirk sighed. "I really wish he'd worded that differently."

"Do you think they will be ill, _Colonel_?" asked LeBeau quietly.

Hogan didn't answer him. That was one possibility he didn't want to contemplate. For once, something had gone wrong which was beyond the limits of his ingenuity. He had got Klink to approve the work which would save the emergency tunnel; he knew he would be able to get their two fugitives out, when the time came, and he was even pretty sure the minor embarrassment of Irma's outfit would be resolved somehow. But there were some things that were beyond his control.

He had to admit it, even if only to himself. If anyone who had been in the river was going to get sick from it, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.


	27. Chapter 27

"Colonel, I feel fine, honest. There's nothing wrong with..." Carter broke off, as another fit of coughing took his breath away.

"Yeah, it sounds like it," replied Hogan. He turned to Zauner, who was watching with interest while LeBeau concocted the herbal infusion which he claimed would ease Carter's cough. It was a risk having their guests in the barracks; Zauner might be overlooked, but Irma was too short, and too slightly built, to be passed off as a prisoner. So Kinch stood at the door, keeping watch to make sure no inquisitive guards came wandering in unannounced.

"What's your opinion, doctor?" said Hogan.

Zauner knit his brow. "There are no definite symptoms which cannot be otherwise explained. Both your men are suffering from aching limbs and fatigue, but this is almost certainly the result of their exertions, and the irritation of the throat is a natural consequence of water finding its way into the air passages. If that is all, then a few days should be sufficient to bring about a full recovery. But..."

He paused, his frown deepening as he looked at Irma. She seemed a lot brighter after her long sleep, but her shyness among the men of Barracks 2 was obvious; she stayed close to the tunnel entrance, one arm around the bedpost, gazing around the barracks with wide blue eyes.

"But...?" Hogan prompted, as Zauner remained silent.

The doctor sighed. "All I can say for certain is that there are no definite signs of illness, yet."

"Okay." Hogan folded his arms, as he usually did when pondering a difficult problem. "So we might still be lucky, and get out of it without anyone getting sick. But we better prepare for the worst. What's the best treatment for something like this?"

"There is no one treatment, because there is no one cause," said Zauner testily. "The infection can be viral, parasitic or bacterial. Penicillin might work, if it were available, but it might equally be useless. At Ypern, in the trenches, we tried everything we could think of, including prayer. That had no effect, either."

For a few seconds, nobody had anything to say.

"Kinch," said Hogan at last, "when you radio London tonight, tell them we need an emergency supply drop of penicillin, if they can manage it. It's just a precaution. So far nobody's sick, and there's a good chance nobody will be. So we're not going to borrow trouble, but it won't hurt to have the stuff on hand."

He paused, glancing at Irma. She was starting to look frightened; it was time to change the subject. "Joliffe's got a team together to start work on the drainage ditch. They're doing the groundwork now, but he says it'll take a few days to get it finished. Now, there's going to be some work to do in the tunnel as well, to take care of any future problems. Kinch, you'll be in charge down there. Talk to Joliffe, find out what he wants done, and pick out a few men to deal with it."

"Will do, Colonel," replied Kinch.

Hogan turned to Zauner. "The other priority is getting you and Irma ready, so you can leave at the first opportunity. You'll need documents, money and clothes, all of which we can supply. LeBeau will see to that. Newkirk, you can help him out, but don't overdo it. If you feel at all unwell, or have any pain in your shoulder, you take a break, okay?"

"What about me, Colonel? Can't I do anything?" asked Carter.

"Yes, Carter. You can take it easy, till you get rid of that cough," said Hogan. "And don't look at me like I just said you can't go to the ball game. It was a rough assignment, and you got the worst of it. You need to take some recovery time."

"But, Colonel..."

"That's an order, Carter."

Carter huddled in his blanket, a sulky scowl supplanting the look of anxiety. "It's just a stupid little cough," he muttered. "It's practically gone already." It might have sounded more convincing, if his shoulders hadn't been shaking, and his voice strained, with the effort of suppressing a renewed outbreak.

"Try this, André," said LeBeau, placing a mug in front of him. "It will help."

Carter peered at the contents, narrowing his eyes against the aromatic steam rising from the surface; then glanced upwards at the chef. "What is it?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just drink it. It's completely harmless." LeBeau smirked, and folded his arms.

"Hey, LeBeau, that smells pretty good," remarked Kinch.

Newkirk leaned across the table, sniffing. "You know, he's right," he said, surprise evident in both tone and expression. "Go on, Carter, get it down you. For once I wouldn't mind betting it's not half bad."

"Newkirk, you have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that," replied LeBeau; and a second mug landed in front of the Englishman.

"No, now, hang on a minute." Newkirk's change of attitude was so rapid as to be ludicrous. "I'm not having any of that - that swamp water of yours. Just because Carter has a tickle in his throat, doesn't mean I'm coming down with anything. When I get sick, it'll be soon enough for you to start poisoning me."

"Why wait till then?" LeBeau tossed back. "Didn't you ever hear prevention is better than cure?"

"If that's what you mean by prevention, then I beg leave to disagree," growled Newkirk. "I'd sooner have typhoid. At least I'd know where it came from."

LeBeau rolled his eyes, and appealed to a higher authority. "_Mon Colonel_..."

"Okay, LeBeau." Hogan straightened up, attempting without success to dismiss the lurking grin from his lips. "Newkirk, Carter, drink your swamp water, and no arguments."

The two victims' eyes met in mutual dismay; then Carter screwed up his face, closed his eyes and took a tentative sip. For several seconds, everyone stared at him, while he ran through a series of grimaces. Then he opened his eyes abruptly and looked around.

"Gosh, it's actually pretty good, Louis," he said.

"You see?" LeBeau sent a smug look towards Newkirk. "Irma, _chérie_, would you like to try it?"

Irma glanced at Carter doubtfully; seeing no sign of ill effects there, she edged closer, and accepted the offered mug with a whisper of thanks.

"Bring it to my office, Irma," said Hogan. "You, too, doctor. There's a few things we need to sort out, then I'm afraid I'll have to send you back down below. Can't risk any of the guards barging in and finding you here."

He strolled across to the door of his quarters, but turned back at as a violent splutter sounded across the barracks, followed by a volley of richly colloquial English.

"Well, that's not very nice, Newkirk," observed Carter reproachfully. "There's a young lady present, you know."

The young lady giggled, but Newkirk paid no attention. "LeBeau, what in God's name did you put in that? Gorblimey, mate, you've served up some terrible things in your time, but that just about takes the biscuit. If there isn't something in the Geneva Convention about this…"

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad," Carter protested.

"You're right, Andrew. It's not that bad," growled Newkirk. "It's worse."

Hogan laughed under his breath, and opened the door of the office; and as he followed Irma and Zauner inside, the last thing he heard was LeBeau, saying in an unnaturally innocent tone, "Gee, Newkirk, I guess maybe after all I shouldn't have left the spoonful of honey out of yours..."

Hogan closed the door, blocking out Newkirk's response.

"I haven't really had a chance to talk to you, Irma," he said. "How are you feeling now you've had a good night's sleep? Better, I hope."

She blushed, and murmured something in reply.

"Good. Now, one thing about staying with us, it may not be the most comfortable lodging around, but it's definitely the safest," Hogan went on gravely. "So don't worry about anyone finding you here, because they won't. In a few days, we'll be sending you out of the camp. I'm not going to lie to you, because I know you're old enough to understand how things are in Germany these days. We're hoping to get you to England, but first you have to travel overland to the coast, and there is some danger of being caught. We've got a good record for getting people out, so the odds are in your favour. You understand?"

Irma clung a little closer to her grandfather, but she met Hogan's eyes with resolution. "Yes, I understand."

Hogan nodded, and relaxed into a smile. "Good girl. Now, there's something you can do to help me." He beckoned her over to the desk, and unrolled a large chart. "Your grandfather told me you used to live in Kahlendorf. Do you know how to read maps? What I'd like is for you to show me the place where you saw the SS men. Once you've done that, you don't have to worry about it any more till you get to London. Can you do that for me?"

He wasn't sure at first whether she was going to refuse. She looked at Zauner, apparently seeking reassurance.

"Show him, _mein Liebchen_," the old man said.

Irma hesitated, then came to look at the map. "That is the town, yes? And this way is north?"

"That's right," replied Hogan. "And you've got forest all round here, south and east of the town."

"We walked a long way," the girl said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "I don't remember exactly, because we left the path. I think it was this way." Her finger traced its way across the map, and her colour deepened again. "We shouldn't have been there, it's all private land. But we always go there for blackberries."

"You like blackberries, huh?" asked Hogan, as she faltered into silence again.

"Gretchen liked them best," replied Irma. A tiny crease had formed between her eyebrows, making her look older. After a few seconds she went on. "There was a kind of rock wall, very high, and a tunnel cut into it. That's where they were. They were taking boxes into the tunnel." Her voice shook a little, as she came close to the memory of what had happened there.

"Okay, honey. That's all I need to know. You can forget about it for now," said Hogan quietly. "You go out and wait, while I finalise a few things with _Opa_."

Irma peeked up at him from under lowered lashes. She was still shy, but no longer frightened of him. "_Danke,_" she murmured, and headed for the door.

"Irma, one more thing," added Hogan. Nobody, not even his mother, had ever heard him speak so gently. "I don't mean you should forget your friends. I'm sure you don't want to do that, and I hope you never will." He saw the brightness of sudden tears in her eyes, and nodded. "Go on, we'll be finished in a couple of minutes."

As the door closed behind her, he turned to Zauner. "As soon as we've worked out how to get you both out of here, we'll contact London and arrange for you to be picked up off the beach at Weingarten. Hopefully it won't take long to finalise. If either of you are likely to come down with anything, it's better if it happens in London rather than in our tunnel. We're not really set up for nursing." He smiled slightly, to take the edge off the words. "Now, it's not going to be an easy journey, although after what it took for you to get this far, it'll probably seem like a holiday excursion."

"Colonel Hogan, you are doing so much for us," said Zauner hesitantly. "I realise now that it was incredibly foolish of me to try to drive through the floods. Your men risked their lives to help us. If either of them should become ill..."

Hogan held up a hand to interrupt him. "Look, Zauner, I won't say it's been the most fun we've ever had, but given the situation, I'd probably have done just the same as you did. Anyway, it's done now, and blaming yourself is wasting energy. For now, let's concentrate on the next task."

Zauner relaxed slightly. "What must we do, Colonel?"

"You'll work with LeBeau and Newkirk, they'll prepare your documentation and come up with a cover story for you. They'll also provide you with clothes, as far as possible." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Irma's likely to prove a little difficult. We're not used to outfitting girls."

"Why should it be difficult...Ah. I see." Zauner frowned slightly. "She will need underclothes. Fortunately, her requirements are simple. She has not matured very far yet. Perhaps she could even do some of the work herself. She sews well, and it will keep her occupied."

"That'd make things a whole lot easier," admitted Hogan. "It's not that my men can't be trusted, I can guarantee their behaviour. But she's bound to find things a bit uncomfortable anyway, and I don't want her to have to go through any more embarrassment than is necessary."

"She is a sensible girl, Colonel. She understands the circumstances are unusual." The old man paused again, and turned a sharp, enquiring gaze on Hogan. "Colonel, you are going to a lot of trouble. It seems this matter is even more serious than I thought, and I sense you know more than you have said."

"You're right," Hogan admitted. "We've found out a few details, but I'm not going to tell you. For your own safety, and Irma's, the less you know, the better. You'll just have to keep trusting me."

He glanced at his watch. "I think that's all we need to discuss for now. I'll keep you updated as we get the arrangements in place. For now, you and Irma better head back downstairs. And don't worry. We're going to do everything in our power to get you safely to England."

He spoke confidently enough. But although he wouldn't admit it, he was worried. Even if these two had the stamina to face the strenuous journey ahead, they still ran the risk of one of them falling ill, or of falling into the hands of either the SS or the Gestapo. .

It was impossible. But somehow, it was going to happen. After all, doing the impossible was Hogan's job.

* * *

_Note: __Ypern = Ypres_


	28. Chapter 28

Kinch spent most of the night down below, as usual getting in a few short naps in between radio communications. He emerged shortly before morning roll call, as the rest of the men were getting dressed.

"Headquarters have really got the goods on this Colonel Jäger," he said, handing a sheet of paper to Hogan. "But the Amber Room's just part of the story. Turns out Jäger's got a few other irons in the fire. Before he went to the Eastern Front, he was attached to Gestapo headquarters in Paris for five months."

"Interesting," murmured Hogan, reading through the transcript. "Five months of collecting evidence against political opponents and Resistance members. Which he then suppressed, so he could blackmail them." He shook his head, and handed the page to Newkirk.

"That means he could get a whole lot of people into serious trouble," remarked LeBeau, as he brought Kinch a mug of coffee.

"Or Hochstetter could, if he gets hold of the information Jäger's sitting on," replied Kinch. "That's what London's all worked up about. They've got an agent in the field, working on retrieving the evidence from wherever he's got it stashed, but until that happens, they don't want to take any chances on the Gestapo getting their hands on it."

"And they think he's keeping it with the Amber Room," said Hogan thoughtfully. "So if Hochstetter tracks that down, he could get a real bonus gift with it."

Kinch gave a soft, scornful laugh. "He'll get more than that. Seems the Amber Room's not the only national treasure that may have found its way into Jäger's pocket. According to intelligence sources, every time the German army entered a new town during Operation Barbarossa, he was just behind them."

"Visiting the art galleries and museums before they got boxed up and sent to Germany," added Hogan.

"And libraries. He, or whoever he's collecting for, has a taste for rare manuscripts." Kinch hunched over his coffee, folding his hands around the mug to warm them. "He doesn't turn his nose up at antiquities, either. There's even an unconfirmed rumour that Jäger was hanging around when they packed up the Pergamon Museum in Berlin, and the state collections in Dresden before the war. So there's a chance he's lifted some inventory from German collections, as well as from the occupied countries, and it's been going on for a long time."

"Long enough for him to get cocky." Hogan leaned over Newkirk's shoulder, taking another look at the information sheet. "Snatching a big item like the Amber Room - or even just part of it - was pretty reckless. There's no way it was going to be overlooked, even if he does have one of the general staff backing him up. And that probably explains why he's so anxious to make sure there are no witnesses."

Carter finished easing his coverall over his shoulders. He seemed better this morning, but movement was still painful. "What are we going to do about Irma, Colonel?" he asked.

"Whatever happens, they're not getting to her," replied Hogan, straightening up. "We know what those animals are capable of, and it's not going to happen. Even leaving that aside, we can't let Hochstetter get hold of any information that might lead him to the Paris file. So that's another reason for getting her out of Germany as fast as possible."

"London agree," added Kinch. "The sub will pick her and Zauner up at the usual place, if we can get them there. I sent them the information she gave us, they'll pass it on to the agent working on the case."

"Begging pardon, Colonel, but what if Jäger's packed up and moved again?" asked Newkirk.

"Hey, that's right," said Carter. "It'd be the smart thing to do, wouldn't it? I mean, if I had something I wanted to hide, and someone knew where it was, I'd get it out of there real fast."

"It's possible," replied Hogan. "But I don't think so. It's not an easy thing to do, finding a safe place to store something that old, and that fragile. Any extremes of temperature or humidity are going to cause irreparable damage, so Jäger can't just stash it in a cave somewhere and hope for the best. Even transporting it is risky, because the amber's so brittle, it falls to bits every time they hit a pot-hole. And whenever they move it, there's the danger of getting stopped at a checkpoint, or pulled over for a random search. So for now he may have no choice but to leave it where it is, and make sure nobody's going to talk about it."

"He should have stuck to stamp collecting," said Newkirk. The words were light enough, but the tone was grim; every man in the barracks knew what was in his mind, and a sombre hush fell.

It was almost a relief when Schultz barged through the door. "Roll call," he bellowed. "Everybody, _raus_."

"Again? We just had roll call yesterday," grumbled LeBeau. "Why can't you Germans get these things right the first time?"

"You know, Schultz, I'm starting to think we're getting into a bit of a rut," added Newkirk, getting slowly to his feet. "Tell you what, why don't we do something different today? You know what they say, a change is as good as a holiday."

"And just what would you like to do instead of roll call, Newkirk?" inquired Schultz.

"Well, between you and me, Schultz, I think what we all need is a day out." Newkirk put one hand on Schultz's shoulder, and leaned forward confidentially. "Now, there's a little pub in Camden Town - the Turk's Head, it's called, they do a lovely shepherd's pie, and the barmaid is a right little..."

"No. You already had a night out this week, in Heiligen," Schultz interrupted. "And if the Kommandant would find out about that, I would be spending my next vacation on the Russian Front. So don't you give me any trouble, but just go out and line up for roll call."

"Please yourself, Schultzie." Newkirk moved towards the barracks door. "But don't come whining to me after the war, saying you've changed your mind." He strolled out to join the other prisoners in formation. Hogan gave Schultz a grin, and followed his men outside.

"Looks like it's clearing up," remarked Kinch, with an eye on the clouds. "Good news for Joliffe and his boys. It wouldn't be much fun up there trying to dig a ditch in the rain."

"It won't be that much fun anyway," Newkirk said over his shoulder. "I'm glad for once it's not me doing the digging."

Klink came striding across the compound, calling impatiently for Schultz's report. The routine business completed, he turned his attention to the prisoners.

"A number of prisoners have been granted permission to go outside camp this morning, in order to carry out some minor construction work," he announced.

"'Granted permission.' I like his way of putting it," said Hogan. "Makes it sound like we're doing it for fun."

"Now, some of you may look on this as an opportunity to try to escape," Klink went on. "So, in order to discourage any such foolishness, I will warn you now. You will be under the supervision of my most trusted and observant guards, and if they see any suspicious activity on your part, their orders will be, shoot to kill." He signalled to Schultz to dismiss the prisoners, and turned back towards his office.

"You know, one of these days some of the guards are going to take that 'shoot to kill' order seriously," observed Hogan, watching the Kommandant's retreat. "And when that happens, we're in big trouble."

"You don't think Joliffe's likely to have any problems, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

"I doubt it," Hogan replied, after a moment of thought. "But let's not take any chances. I'll go out with the work detail. That way if the guards do get trigger happy, I'll be on hand to defuse the situation. Kinch, you'll be working in the emergency tunnel. And you two," he finished, turning to LeBeau and Newkirk, "keep working on getting our guests ready to move out."

"What about me, Colonel?" Carter piped up anxiously. "Can't I do anything? I'm just about all right now."

"Well, that's a worry, because you never were before," observed Newkirk under his breath.

Hogan ignored him, but turned a keen, searching look on Carter. "Okay," he said. "You can start making up the documentation. But stay above ground, you can work in my office. Everyone know what to do? Right, get going." He headed off to join the work party, leaving his men to return to the barracks and the duties waiting for them.

Joliffe and his men had made a good start the night before, and the outline of the trench was already established. "We're keeping it simple," the engineer explained. "It only needs to last until the end of the war, so no point in going to a lot of trouble. This is how it'll work..."

"Please, Joliffe," Hogan interrupted. "Spare me the details. If you say it'll work, that's good enough for me."

"Oh, it'll work," Joliffe assured him, in slightly melancholy accents, and went back to the trench.

Hogan strolled along the line of the ditch. There wasn't anything else for him to do, unless he was ready to pick up a shovel and start moving earth, and he had a feeling he'd be more of a hindrance than a help. Digging ditches was apparently more of a skilled art than he'd previously appreciated. He'd have to remember to call on some of these guys, the next time he wanted a new tunnel excavated.

He sat on a fallen log, on the uphill side of the trench. From here he could keep the guards under his eye, although he was beginning to think it was unnecessary; they looked as bored as he felt. He could also see the whole of the prison yard, from the front gate to the motor pool. Apart from the sentries at the gate, and the guards patrolling the compound, there was no activity.

Then a car came into view, driving slowly along the approach road. Hogan straightened up, his eyes following the vehicle's progress. He couldn't make out any of the occupants, but it was a staff car, one he was pretty sure he hadn't seen before.

He got to his feet, watching as the car stopped at the gate, then proceeded through to stop in front of the Kommandant's office. Schultz, clearly identifiable even at a distance, came hurrying to open the rear door, and to salute the officer who alighted.

Hogan's muscles tightened, from head to foot. The man was wearing the black uniform of the SS. It wasn't Hochstetter; Hogan would have recognised him on sight. This man was unfamiliar. But Hogan had a really bad feeling about him.

He couldn't be sure, but his instinct told him that the man he was looking at was Colonel Jäger. If it was, then Hogan's problems had just got much, much worse.


	29. Chapter 29

"How's it going, Carter?" LeBeau put his head round the door of Hogan's quarters. He spoke in a bright, cheerful tone, but the slight narrowing of his eyes gave notice of his anxiety.

"Fine," replied Carter, without looking up. "Can't do a lot until we get the photos done for the ID cards."

"You'll have to wait. We're trying to talk Irma into letting us cut her hair," said LeBeau.

"Uh-huh." Carter bent closer over his work. Because of the risk of being seen through the window by a passing guard, he'd had to close the shutters, and the only illumination was from the reading lamp on the desk. The yellow artificial light, reflecting up from the desktop, cast shadows under his eyes and bleached the colour from his face.

LeBeau drew a little closer. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked.

"Well, yeah, sure I am." Carter straightened up, with a grimace. "Just a bit sore still, that's all." He sounded uncharacteristically tetchy, but LeBeau held his ground.

"Maybe you should take a break," he said. "Hunching your back like that is only going to make it worse."

"Sure. Whatever you say," mumbled Carter, leaning forward again.

LeBeau hesitated for a moment, then slipped out to the main barracks. He returned a couple of minutes later, with two mugs in one hand and a tin plate in the other.

"Coffee time," he said briskly.

Carter sighed impatiently. "You don't give up, do you?" he grumbled.

"Never," replied LeBeau. "Have an oatmeal cookie."

"Where'd those come from?" asked Carter, accepting the coffee but looking askance at the biscuits.

"Newkirk's Red Cross parcel." LeBeau's eyes gleamed with mischief. "He doesn't need them."

"Golly, I wouldn't want to be you when he finds out. He'll blow his stack, for sure." But Carter took one of them, all the same.

For half a minute, neither of them said anything. Then Carter put his mug on the desk, folding his hands around it. "Hey, Louis?"

"What is it, André?"

"D'you think I caught anything from that water?"

"I don't know," said LeBeau, after a few moments. "Is that what's worrying you?"

"Yeah. I just keep thinking, what if I get sick? Or Newkirk, that'd be even worse. I mean, anything else happens to us, usually there's something we can do about it, but if you get sick in a prison camp, well, it's real bad news. They had dysentery at Stalag 5 when I was there, and some of the guys died from it, and there wasn't anything anyone could ..."

"You're not going to have dysentery," LeBeau broke in sharply. "You may not get sick at all. The chances have got to be pretty low."

"You think so?" Carter looked down at his coffee.

"Just think about it, Carter. You weren't in the water that long, and who says there was even anything bad in there? Anyway, even if you did catch anything, it might not be so bad." LeBeau punched him gently on the arm. "You're in better condition now than you were at Stalag 5, because the food here is better. Plus London are sending some penicillin in the next supply drop, just in case we need it. So stop worrying. If either of you gets sick, we'll take care of you. But I bet you won't even get a sniffle."

He let that sink in, then took another biscuit. "You better go for a little walk, before you stiffen up," he added. "I have to get back to the tunnel. We've got a lot of work to do."

"Yeah. Thanks, Louis," murmured Carter.

He stayed where he was for a minute or so after LeBeau had left. Then he got up, wriggling his shoulders to loosen the muscles; picked up his mug, and wandered out of the office.

For once he had the barracks to himself. Generally he was in the thick of whatever was going on; even when he'd been forced to stand down, after the accident which had laid him up for the last few weeks, LeBeau had been there to share his inactivity. It felt wrong somehow, being the only one here.

He went to the door, and stood for a couple of minutes looking out at the waterlogged parade ground. The rain was still holding off; that was a break for the guys up on the hill, digging that rainwater channel. A few of the prisoners were taking advantage of the break in the weather to get some laundry done. They'd be lucky to get it dry.

There wasn't much to see, and a brisk wind made it uncomfortable standing around. He might as well go back to the office; at least it was warmer in there. He started to retreat, then stopped as a car drew up at the main gate, and was admitted to the compound.

It wasn't unusual for visitors to turn up unexpectedly. Stalag 13's reputation as the toughest, most escape-proof POW camp in all of Germany, while not as prominent as Klink liked to imagine, was still sufficiently wide-spread to inspire curiosity; any officers who happened to be in the area, and who could think of an excuse, were liable to pay a call on the Kommandant. They came hoping to learn how he did it; they left shaking their heads in bewilderment.

This could be just another such caller, or it could be General Burkhalter, who sometimes pulled a surprise inspection. But it wasn't Burkhalter's car. Nor was it Hochstetter's, which was here so often, Carter could have drawn the scratches on his hubcaps from memory.

He drew back a little, closing the door till only a small gap remained through which he watched the staff car come to a stop in front of the Kommandant's office. The front-seat passenger got out; Carter's heart gave a lurch at sight of the SS uniform. He scarcely breathed as he watched the man open the rear door for his superior; and even though he'd only seen him once, and that from a distance in near darkness, he recognised the SS colonel who alighted.

_What the heck is he doing here?_

There wasn't time for speculation. Jäger headed straight for the office; the private on guard duty at the door gave a flustered salute, and went ahead, probably to announce the visitor, as the Kommandant's secretary was absent. The guy would probably be in Klink's office in about ten seconds; not even long enough to give Newkirk and LeBeau a shout. Whatever he had to say to the Kommandant, it was important not to miss any of it. Carter closed the door and raced back to the office. With fumbling fingers he plugged in the coffee pot, and sat down to listen.

At first he heard only a crackling hiss; then the Kommandant's voice came through: "...a great honour to have you visit our little prison camp, Colonel Jäger." As always in the presence of the SS, his tone had developed a shrill, nervous tremolo.

"I'm sure it is." Jäger's voice, low-pitched and quite pleasant. "However, this is not a social call..."

The sound faded, replaced by a storm of static. Carter, nonplussed, jiggled the speaker, then the cord, and after a few seconds the interference cleared. "...on the road to Heiligen," said Jäger. "Unfortunately it didn't occur to me at the time, but your men might have been able to give me some important information. Perhaps if I could speak to them..."

"That would be Sergeant Schultz," replied Klink. "But I'm afraid you have it a little - just a little wrong, sir." He ended with a squeak; obviously Jäger hadn't taken kindly to the criticism. However, Klink cleared his throat, and went on. "You said there were two of my men, but Schultz was alone that night. He went to pick up one of our men who was supposed to be stranded there. But it turned out to be the wrong man. So if there were two men claiming to be..."

Once again, the sound broke apart into a meaningless buzzing. "Oh, come on!" muttered Carter, fiddling with the cord again, then giving the speaker a shake, this time to no effect. He knew it wasn't Schultz who had met the SS colonel on the road to Heiligen, but LeBeau and Zauner. If that were to come out, it meant big trouble for everyone.

He couldn't get the coffee pot to work. Maybe some water had gotten into the wiring or something. For a couple of seconds he sat staring at it.

What would Hogan do?

That was easy. He'd find some other way to listen in. He'd think of an excuse for one of the boys to get into the office, so they could eavesdrop.

"That's it!" exclaimed Carter. He hastily reassembled the coffee pot - they never left it set up for anyone to see, no matter how urgent the situation - and headed for the door, grabbing a broom and duster as he passed through the barracks.

The private on duty at the Kommandantur, a weedy bespectacled young man who probably should have been studying palaeontology instead of guarding prisoners of war, observed Carter's approach with consternation. "_Halt!_" he quavered, stepping forward.

"And a good morning to you, too," replied Carter cheerfully, stopping at the bottom step. "Say, ain't it great that it's stopped raining? Boy, I thought we were going to end up with a lake right in the middle of camp."

"_Was wollen Sie hier_?" demanded the guard, trying to be tough, and failing at every level. "_Es ist verboten_."

"Well, I just came to sweep up, that's all," said Carter. "On account of 'cause with all the mud everywhere, and those SS guys stomping round, they'll have tracked a lot of dirt all over the office. And if it's not cleaned up before the Kommandant sees it, well, he's just about gonna blow a gasket."

The guard probably understood no more that three words of this. "_Nein_," he said, standing between Carter and the door.

"Oh, come on, Fritz," Carter persisted, with an exasperated sigh. "What d'you think I'm gonna do in there? It's a broom, get it? For cleaning up."

The guard, with an effort, managed to produce a few words of English. "You can here work," he said, waving his hand to indicate the porch. "_Aber nicht drinnen._"

Well, it was a start, but Carter, as he set to with the broom, was worried. From here he couldn't hear a thing; he couldn't even see inside, the window was so misted up. Unless he could get inside the building, he wasn't going to be able to do any good at all. He worked slowly, keeping his head down but watching the guard covertly, wondering how to distract him. It wasn't a one-man job; he needed help.

And help came, from the unlikeliest source.

"Private Hochhauser," said Klink, appearing without warning at the door, "find Sergeant Schultz, and tell him to report to my office at once - Carter, what are you doing?"

"Just tidying up a little, Kommandant," replied Carter. "I thought, since you had visitors, you'd want it to be all..."

"All right, fine. But do it quickly, and then go back to the barracks - Hochhauser, what are you waiting for? Go and find Sergeant Schultz at once!"

"_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_," squeaked Hochhauser, and scurried away, while Klink returned to his office. Carter waited a few seconds before he followed, just in time to see the door of the inner office closing.

He crept over to the closet which stood against the wall, and slipped inside. This was the emergency listening station; only rarely used, as the risk of detection was high, and the hidden microphone made it unnecessary. But it came in useful occasionally.

At the back of the closet, a sliding panel gave access to the wall of Klink's office. Visual observation was possible through a set of eye-holes cut into a portrait of Himmler, but using them was dangerous. For now Carter just listened.

"I still don't quite understand what you are after, Colonel Jäger," said Klink; a slight creaking indicated he was fidgeting uneasily in his chair. "You say you are investigating a case of official corruption. Surely that's a Gestapo matter."

"Normally, of course, it would be," replied Jäger. He sounded bored, as if this was just routine business. "However, owing to the particular circumstances it was thought better not to place this investigation in their hands. It's an extremely delicate matter, so I hope I can count on your discretion."

"My lips are sealed," Klink murmured. "But I must confess, I am curious. The Gestapo have always seemed such an efficient organisation. The local man - Major Hochstetter - I mean, he's something of an upstart, if you know what I mean." He giggled nervously.

"Oh, I do know, Kommandant," said Jäger, in a soft silky tone.

"Yes, indeed. A little underbred, rather common in fact," Klink went on, encouraged. He did like to air his snobbery every so often. "But very dedicated, very zealous. I would have thought he'd be just the man for an investigation of this type."

"You have put your finger on the very heart of the matter." Jäger's tone sharpened. "Major Hochstetter is well qualified to handle such cases. After all, he is a policeman, when all is said and done. And the Gestapo police the whole state. But tell me this, Kommandant. Who polices the Gestapo?"

There was a pause, while both Klink and Carter absorbed the question, and both came to the same conclusion.

_Holy cow! _thought Carter, aghast. _He's investigating Hochstetter!_

Klink's reaction was slightly different. "You mean...?" he whispered, and Carter could hear the delighted anticipation in his voice.

Jäger made a soft tutting sound. "Don't say it, my dear Kommandant. You never know who's listening."


	30. Chapter 30

From his vantage point on the slope above Stalag 13, Hogan had watched as Jäger strode into the office; and he had seen Carter scurry across the yard. But he had no idea what Carter was playing at, and no way of finding out without getting back inside the wire.

Shortly afterwards, a figure identifiable by its lankiness as Private Hochhauser came down the steps, and rushed off. He returned a few minutes later accompanied by the unmistakable bulk of Schultz.

_Laurel and Hardy,_ thought Hogan. But this was no comedy. Whatever was going on down there, it was serious. He got up, and strolled over to the trench.

Joliffe had just taken a turn at digging; a socialist by nature, his idea of supervising a job of work meant pitching in. He now stood on the edge of the trench, leaning on his shovel and assessing by eye whether the ditch was following the right line.

"I need to get back into camp, urgently," Hogan murmured. "Can you spare a couple of your men?"

"I think so, Colonel," replied Joliffe. "What is it you want them to do?"

Five minutes later, a sudden commotion in the trench brought work to a standstill. Hogan, who had moved away, came quickly to see what was going on, and the men crowded around, prisoners and guards, parted to let him through.

"What happened?" he demanded, just as if he didn't already know.

In the ditch, one of the diggers was on the ground, supported by another man while Joliffe carefully examined his left foot and ankle. "O'Hare's done himself a bit of an injury, sir," he said, looking up. "I warned him to be more careful with that mattock."

Hogan jumped down to join them, landing with a squelch and a skid. "Bad?" he asked, crouching over the supposedly injured man.

"Oh, he's not broken anything, but he won't be doing any dancing for a while." Joliffe sat back on his heels. "Better get him back to the barracks, and a cold compress on it, and see how it goes."

Hogan straightened up, and looked around for Sergeant Müller, who was in charge. "That'll be okay, won't it?" he asked.

Müller seemed vaguely alarmed by the question, but after a moment of cogitation, he nodded. "_Ja_. But straight back to camp. Schmidt, _gehen Sie mit_."

With tender care, the men raised O'Hare out of the ditch, while he put on a very convincing show of stoic endurance.

"I'll go with him, to save you losing too many of your crew, Joliffe" offered Hogan. "In fact, if Schmidt would help me carry him...no, I guess he won't," he finished up, as the goon in question scowled, and drew back

Joliffe nodded to one of his men. "Hamilton, you're in O'Hare's barracks. You'd better go along. The rest of you can get on with the job."

Hogan's anxiety, as he and Hamilton lifted O'Hare in their arms and commenced a slow, careful descent, wasn't put on. Even as they had set off, a second staff car had arrived at the main gate; a car which seemed very familiar to his eyes.

_And I thought things couldn't get any worse_, thought Hogan.

* * *

"I know nothing, _Herr Kommandant_."

Klink sighed, with weary resignation. "I haven't asked you anything yet, Schultz."

"I know, _Herr Kommandant_," replied Schultz. "I just thought it would save time if I said it right away."

"This is not the man," interrupted Jäger. "The soldier I spoke to was much smaller."

_You got that right, pal_, thought Carter, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He had started to think this hadn't been such a good idea. This closet might be a pretty neat hiding place from which to listen in on conversations in the office, but, as always, it had taken only a few minutes to grow almost unbearably stuffy.

"Who else among your guards might have been in Heiligen the night before last?" Jäger went on.

"As I explained, Colonel, apart from Schultz, and Corporal Langenscheidt who is on furlough, all of my men were in camp," replied Klink

"And this Corporal...what was his name?"

"Langenscheidt. He's spending his leave in Hamburg. In fact it was him..."

Jäger cut him off; he had no interest in the absent Langenscheidt. "So, if these two men I met were not from here, they were probably up to no good. Underground operatives, or black marketers trying to avoid suspicion."

"But why would they claim to have been from Stalag 13?" asked Klink plaintively.

"Perhaps because it's the closest _Luftwaffe_ facility to Heiligen," murmured Jäger. "In any case, they may have nothing to do with my own investigation. Tell me, Sergeant, did you happen to encounter these men while you were at Heiligen?"

"No, _Herr Standartenführer_, I did not see them. I did not see anyone at all, the whole time I was there," replied Schultz.

"You didn't happen to come across an elderly man travelling with his granddaughter?" Jäger persisted.

"No, sir, like I said, I didn't see anyone."

"No one at all?"

"No one at all."

"Well, that's strange," Jäger went on meditatively, "because Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo was also in Heiligen..." He trailed off on a suggestively rising inflection.

Schultz paused for a few seconds, apparently turning over in his mind whether the Gestapo might have already told Jäger all about the encounter at the hotel. He decided to play safe. "I did not see anyone," he repeated firmly; then added under his breath: "...except Major Hochstetter."

Carter sighed, suppressing his irritation. Trust Schultz to fall for that.

"Schultz!" Klink's voice trembled with dismay. "You didn't think to tell me?"

"Would you believe, I forgot?" mumbled Schultz.

"And how often do you forget an encounter with a Gestapo officer?" enquired Jäger, with chilling politeness.

Schultz's response was even more subdued. "Every chance I get."

"Well, now you must remember. Tell me, Schultz, what did you and Hochstetter talk about?"

_Don't tell him, Schultz_. Carter closed his eyes tightly, willing Schultz to be discreet for once in his life. If Jäger found out how much the sergeant knew about the Amber Room, he might feel impelled to take steps to keep Schultz from spreading the story; and his methods of doing so were likely to be drastic.

"I don't think we talked about anything," Schultz replied after a few seconds. Then, in a confiding tone, he added, "I think Major Hochstetter had a little too much to drink. He fell asleep, and I didn't like to wake him."

"And where was this?" asked Jäger.

"At the hotel - _Die Sonne_ - where I waited for the rain to stop. Of course, I did not have anything to drink," Schultz explained with great dignity.

"Of course, Schultz," said Klink. "The day you pass up the chance of a drink is the day I dress up as Marlene Dietrich and sing _Falling In Love Again_."

"Please, Kommandant," murmured Jäger. "What you do in your private life..."

He got no further; and Carter, attempting to turn in the very limited space available, hit his elbow against the side panel of the closet, jumped, and bit his tongue. An altercation had broken out at the door of the outer office; Hochhauser was attempting to prevent someone from coming in, just as he had blocked Carter's entry not long before. The difference was, Carter couldn't send him to the Russian Front. Major Hochstetter could, and would.

_Boy, Hochhauser's got guts,_ thought Carter, rubbing his elbow.

By a series of almost acrobatic manoeuvres, he managed to wriggle around, and slid the closet door open by a hair's breadth. It was Major Hochstetter all right, stumping heavily with the aid of a walking stick; the guard might as well have tried to stop a Tiger Tank.

Klink burst out of his office. "What on earth is going on - Oh, Major Hochstetter." He didn't miss a beat. "What a nice surprise. We were just talking about you - what happened to your foot?"

"Klink, I have no time for pleasantries," Hochstetter snapped. "I have come here to speak to Schultz, please have him brought to your office at once." He pushed past the Kommandant and went on into the inner office, and Carter had to repeat his contortionist act to continue listening.

"Ah." Hochstetter had apparently stopped in his tracks, with a thud of the stick on the floor.

"Major Hochstetter, I think you know Colonel Jäger." When he got smug, Klink was even more unbearable than usual.

"We have met," said Hochstetter. "_Heil Hitler_."

Jäger returned the greeting. "You surprise me, Major. I didn't expect you to get here so fast, even without allowing for your temporary disability."

He didn't sound particularly surprised, but Hochstetter accepted the remark at face value. "Why should you expect me at all, _Herr Standartenführer_?" The low guttural growl in which he pronounced Jäger's rank was several degrees beyond the tone he generally used when addressing Klink; it sent a shiver down Carter's spine.

Jäger didn't reply directly. "I believe I heard you say you wanted to speak to Sergeant Schultz. Well, as you can see, he is here. I've just had a most enlightening conversation with him myself."

"Is that so?" Hochstetter snarled.

"I said nothing, Major Hochstetter," stammered Schultz.

"Nothing. It's always nothing with you, isn't it, Schultz?" The frustration in Hochstetter's voice was palpable. "Kommandant, I would like to have a word with Sergeant Schultz. In private."

Before the Kommandant could answer him, Jäger cut in. "I don't think that is advisable, Klink. Not in private, anyway."

There was a long silence; long enough to make Carter nervous. He hesitated, then carefully removed the inset from the eye holes in the Himmler portrait, and peered through.

All he could see was the back of Klink's head. Then the Kommandant moved behind the desk, giving Carter a clear view of the other players in the scene; Hochstetter, leaning on his stick, his eyes on Jäger, who sat at his ease, a faint smile of amusement on his long narrow face; and Schultz standing behind the colonel, shifting from one foot to the other as if contemplating the potential health benefits of a cross-country run. Klink, his eyes turning from one antagonist to the other, clasped his hands together nervously; he almost looked as if he were praying, although to which of the two hostile powers in the room, it would be hard to say.

At last Hochstetter spoke. "With respect, Colonel Jäger," he said, with chilling irony, "this is Gestapo business. I suggest you keep out of it."

"My dear Hochstetter, I wouldn't dream of interfering with your concerns," replied Jäger. "Any more than you would get in the way of mine."

His eyes, ice-blue, met Hochstetter's dark glare. For several seconds, nobody moved, as the two stared each other down. Carter didn't dare guess which of them would blink first, but he had a feeling, no matter who it was, things were going to get ugly, real fast.

But it never came to that. A sudden, vociferous disturbance from outside broke the spell, and both men turned towards the door as it flew open.

"Kommandant - oh, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know you had company," burbled Hogan, gazing at the two visiting officers apologetically. "Of course, you know how I hate to burst in here unannounced, but it's an emergency."

Jäger leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "What is this man doing here?"

Hochstetter uttered a soft laugh. "It seems we are not so different after all, Colonel Jäger," he said, gazing suspiciously at the new arrival. "I was just about to ask the same question. So please, Colonel Hogan, don't keep us waiting. Tell us why you are here."


	31. Chapter 31

Hogan had no very clear idea how he was going to handle the situation, mostly because he had no idea what the situation was. It could be an _Eliza crossing the ice _occasion; or it could be a good time for throwing a cat among the pigeons, and seeing what they dropped. Either approach could be fun, under the right circumstances, but he wasn't expecting to enjoy himself today.

He took a couple of seconds, as he barged into the office, to size up the unknown quantity, Colonel Jäger. The man didn't look particularly brutal, at least no more than any other SS officer. Although startled by the sudden irruption into the office of the senior POW officer, he still sat at his ease on one of Klink's hard office chairs, one hand on his knee, the other resting casually on the edge of the Kommandant's desk. He certainly seemed more in command of the situation than did Hochstetter; the major gripped his walking stick so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Klink was behind the desk; Schultz stood between Hochstetter and Jäger, looking as if he wasn't sure which of the two was going to bite him first. Carter was nowhere in sight, but Hogan was pretty sure he'd be in the emergency listening post - the closet in the outer office, and a quick glance at the portrait of Himmler on the connecting wall confirmed it.

Carter better have a good reason for being there. It was strictly a last resort, especially with Hochstetter in the room, to say nothing of Jäger.

"Well, Hogan?" growled Hochstetter. "What can possibly be so important that you felt it necessary to come bursting in here without warning?" He glared at the intruder with his usual suspicious animosity. But Hogan knew him too well; over time he'd learned to read every fleeting shadow of emotion which crossed Hochstetter's face. The momentary flicker he'd just seen was a first, as far as he could remember.

Adopting a petulant, slightly wounded tone, he responded to Hochstetter's question: "One of the prisoners had an accident, and I thought the Kommandant would want to know about it straight away."

"Hogan, I'm far too busy to...what kind of an accident?" Klink's attention was diverted instantly. Injuries to prisoners meant paperwork, and questions from the protecting power.

"Well, it might not be that serious, but...say, Major Hochstetter, what happened to you?" said Hogan. "Gosh, did you hit your foot with a mattock, too?"

"Did I...What are you talking about, Hogan?" snarled Hochstetter, thrown by the unexpected question.

"Well, that's what happened to O'Hare. And I just thought, seeing as you spend so much time digging up dirt...oops, sorry, Kommandant, I guess you didn't want me to repeat that..."

"Hogan!" Klink almost ground the word between his teeth. "Just tell me what happened."

"How am I supposed to know? You better ask Major Hochstetter - oh, you mean what happened to O'Hare?" Hogan sighed, and shook his head. "It's just like I said, he hit himself on the foot while he was digging."

"Digging?" Hochstetter jumped at the hint eagerly. "The prisoners are digging? Klink, what's the meaning of this?"

"Just a little construction work, Major," Klink explained. "We needed a ditch for drainage."

He glanced deprecatingly at Jäger, who sat looking on with the air of a Roman emperor watching the circus games.

"Look, Kommandant, I can see you're busy," said Hogan. "But poor O'Hare's lying there in the barracks, in absolute agony. If you could just spare a minute to take a look, just so you know he's not faking it, then you could send for a medic. Or if you can't get away, maybe you could send Schultz instead."

"I have not yet finished with Schultz," growled Hochstetter.

"Well, I'm sorry, Major," replied Klink, "but I have to inform you that I agree with Colonel Jäger, and...and I can't permit you to interview one of my guards unless I am present."

"Klink, you are obstructing a Gestapo enquiry."

"In any case, Colonel Jäger was already interviewing Schultz before you arrived," Klink went on, apparently emboldened by Jäger's presence. "He was telling us how he met you in Heiligen the other night, and it was just getting interesting."

_Oh, boy!_ thought Hogan. He didn't know how much Schultz had already said, and from the tightening of Hochstetter's jaw, it appeared he didn't know, either. But once Schultz started talking, it wouldn't take much pressure from Jäger to make him spill the beans - _all_ the beans - about the excursion to Heiligen. Getting him out of this was the first priority; or at least, diverting everyone's attention to another target. And the best target was Hogan himself.

He edged closer to Schultz. "Well, don't blame me, Schultz. I never said anything," he protested, in a plaintive stage whisper.

Klink rose to the bait, of course. "Hogan! What do you know about this?"

Jäger straightened up, momentarily startled; and for a moment, another gleam lit Hochstetter's eyes.

"Nothing, Kommandant, nothing at all," replied Hogan, shaking his head vehemently, with an uneasy glance at Hochstetter. As if by reflex, he stepped quickly away from Schultz.

"Hogan, you know you can't lie to me." Klink stood up, leaning across the desk. "Schultz has been talking to you, hasn't he? Schultz, you know the rules about gossiping with the prisoners. Hogan, what did he tell you?"

"Aw, gee, sir, don't ask me that. You know I hate to squeal on the guards." Hogan's lower lip trembled slightly. Then, as Klink continued to glare sternly at him, he added hastily, "It was no big deal. And Schultz wouldn't tell us anything he didn't tell you, right? What did he tell you, anyway?"

"Only about Major Hochstetter drinking himself unconscious," replied Klink, before either Hochstetter or Jäger could stop him.

"See? You already got the whole story," said Hogan. "I can't add anything to that. And I just want to say, Major, none of the prisoners think any the worse of you for it. You're a busy man, with a stressful job, so it's no wonder sometimes..."

"Thank you, Hogan," Hochstetter interrupted. "That will do." He turned a fierce glare towards the Kommandant. "Klink, you have wasted enough of my time. I will, of course, report this matter to my superiors, who will report it to your superiors. Believe me, Kommandant, you have not heard the last of this."

"I don't think there's any need for this to go further." Jäger spoke for the first time since Hogan's arrival. "Kommandant, why don't you go and attend to this little administrative matter of yours? Take Schultz with you, by all means. There are a few matters I need to discuss with Major Hochstetter.."

"But...But, Colonel Jäger, do you think...?" Klink stammered.

Jäger ignored him. "If that's convenient for you, of course, Major," he went on,

Hochstetter glowered at him. "Perhaps it would be best," he murmured. "I am at your service, _Herr Standartenführer._" He shuffled across the room, giving Hogan a sharp, penetrating glance as he went past.

Klink's eyes travelled from Hochstetter to Jäger, then back again. "You wouldn't like to have an independent witness...No, of course not. Very well, Hogan, take me to see O'Hare. And if it turns out he doesn't have anything wrong with him, I warn you, he soon will have."

"Kommandant, you have a heart of stone," said Hogan, gazing at him with wide-eyed, innocent reproach. "The poor guy's in terrible pain. And if you hadn't insisted on my men doing work that, if you recall, I didn't want them to do..."

"Hogan! Just take me to O'Hare," growled Klink. "Colonel Jäger...Major..." He saluted, and headed for the door. "Come, Hogan, don't dawdle. If this is an emergency, then let's deal with it."

Hogan would have given anything to stay behind. He had a feeling this conversation was going to be very enlightening. But his ingenuity could stretch only so far, and finding an excuse to stay behind was way beyond his limit.

He glanced at the Himmler portrait, and scratched his ear; and a quick double blink of the eyes showed that Carter had got the message. Then he tagged on after Klink, with Schultz bringing up the rear.

Whatever Jäger wanted to say to Hochstetter, at least there would be someone listening in. But as Hogan crossed the compound, talking volubly to Klink about fractured bones and deep bruises, he felt a knot of anxiety form in his gut.

Carter would do his best, but when it came to remembering details he wasn't exactly on the ball. But that wasn't the main worry. They already knew from experience how ruthless Hochstetter could be, and Jäger, by all accounts, was even worse. If either of them realised Carter was there, it could be the last bit of eavesdropping he ever did.


	32. Chapter 32

As the office door closed behind Schultz, Carter had to fight down an imperative urge to creep out of his hiding place and make a run for it. For a few seconds he came almost as close to the edge of panic as he'd been when he was in the river. The current here was just as treacherous, and the waters as deep.

He made a conscious effort to control his breathing, and closed the spyholes as a precaution; these two were probably more observant than Klink. Then he shut his eyes, and listened hard.

At first all he could hear was the intermittent thumping of Hochstetter's stick as he limped back and forth.

"Please, Major, take a seat," said Jäger at last. "You're making me nervous."

"Is that so, _Herr Standartenführer_?" Hochstetter didn't stop pacing. "Well? What was it you wished to discuss?"

Jäger sighed faintly. "You know, Hochstetter, you really do surprise me. And I have to say, I admire your persistence. How long is it now that you've been trying to track down a certain item?" Hochstetter didn't reply, and after a few moments, Jäger answered the question himself. "More than two years. And how far have you progressed?"

"I have a few leads," Hochstetter growled.

"You have nothing. For the last year it hasn't even been your case. Your superiors moved you to other matters after that little debacle at Mahndorf."

"It was there," Hochstetter snapped. "I know you had it stored there."

"My dear Hochstetter," replied the colonel smoothly, "I have no idea what you mean. In any case, whether it was there or not isn't important. What matters is whether you found anything."

Neither of them spoke for a couple of minutes, although Hochstetter continued to stomp around the office, as if on the trail of something. Then he stopped.

"Why were you trying to get to Bernsdorf through the floods two nights ago?" he demanded.

"There's an excellent _Weinstube_ there," replied Jäger. "The owner's wife is a particularly fine cook, and the local _Schwarzriesling_ is of outstanding quality."

"You would have me believe you would risk your life travelling in such dangerous conditions, just for a glass of wine?" Hochstetter's skepticism was almost tangible; Carter, crouched in the darkness of the listening post, could just picture the smirk on the major's face.

"Oh, it's worth it, if one is a connoisseur," murmured Jäger. "But I believe you're not a great wine drinker, are you, Major? You have a preference for...let me think..._Kölsch_ beer, isn't it? Or apricot _Schnaps_, for more formal occasions."

"You are very well informed," said Hochstetter, after a few seconds.

"I do my best. Everything about you interests me, Hochstetter, just as everything about me is of interest to you." Jäger's voice deepened, as if he were amused. "I know, for instance, that you almost treat this prison camp as a second office. Somehow all your investigations ultimately lead here. The place seems to fascinate you, for reasons I can't even begin to guess. So naturally, I knew if I paid the Kommandant a visit, you wouldn't be far behind me."

He paused for a few seconds, then laughed. "Have you read _The Art of War_, Major? No, I didn't think so. It's a very ancient text, Chinese in origin. The author sets out a number of rules for success in warfare, and some of them have wider significance. For me the most important is this: _know your enemy_." He waited for a response, but Hochstetter didn't say a word, and after a few moments Jäger continued. "But I don't know whether we really need to consider ourselves enemies. Perhaps there is a point on which we can resolve our differences, and come to an agreement that might be...let's say, mutually advantageous."

A very long silence followed; long enough to make Carter even more nervous. He was just about to risk a quick peek, when Hochstetter finally spoke. "In what way?"

"Allow me to be frank with you, Major," said Jäger. "Your ongoing interference in a matter which is none of your business is becoming a trifle annoying to those whose business it is."

"You mean, I'm getting too close to the truth." Subtlety had never been Hochstetter's forté.

Jäger didn't answer him directly. "I just wonder if perhaps in this instance you might consider the potential benefits of pooling our resources. After all, we both had the same reasons for trying to reach Bernsdorf that night. Or rather, we were both looking for the same person."

"Irma Weidenfeld." Hochstetter's voice was cold enough to make Carter shiver.

"Yes, poor child," murmured Jäger. "It would mean a lot to me to know she was safe."

"As safe as her friend Gretchen Braun?" Hochstetter's voice grated on the name. "And the other girl, Ursula Mahler, how safe is she now?"

"Oh, believe me, Hochstetter," replied Jäger, "she couldn't be safer."

Carter wasn't immediately sure what he was getting at; when it finally hit him, he caught his breath in a harsh gasp which tore at his irritated throat, leaving behind an almost unbearable tickle. He held his breath and tightened his jaw, trying to suppress it, then in desperation buried his face in Klink's old topcoat, to stifle any sound. That just made it worse; the coat had been hanging in here for months, and the accumulated dust nearly choked him. For a couple of minutes, he had no attention to spare for the confrontation in the next room.

When the worst was over, he leaned heavily against the side panel of the closet, his chest heaving as each breath rasped in and out, his face damp with perspiration and tears. He couldn't hear anything from the office, and he wondered whether perhaps they'd finished their business and gone. Then Hochstetter's voice reached him again.

"So what are you suggesting, _Herr Standartenführer_? That I should discontinue my investigation?"

"It could be in your best interests," replied Jäger. "As things stand, you have wasted a great deal of time, which could have been devoted to more productive enquiries."

Obviously Carter had missed some part of the discussion while he was trying not to suffocate. He shifted slightly, resting his forehead against the dividing wall, clenching his hands unconsciously in his anxiety not to lose another word.

"Furthermore, while I'm not in the least concerned about the possibility of your finding any evidence linking me to the theft," Jäger went on, "your active pursuit of the case is causing me a certain amount of inconvenience, to say nothing of embarrassment. So what I propose is this. If you will in future confine yourself to the investigations which have been assigned to you, I might be able to arrange some form of compensation for the time and trouble you have already taken."

"Compensation." Hochstetter let the word fall dead.

"Oh, not monetary, of course. I'm quite sure you're not susceptible to bribery, Major. But perhaps I might be able to find some other small token of my appreciation. Tell me, Hochstetter, how do you fill in your free time? Do you have any hobbies?"

"I do not have free time." Hochstetter's voice had dropped very low, and Carter had to strain every nerve to hear him.

"Then it's no wonder you've developed an obsession or two," said Jäger. "This won't do. Allow me to show you something."

There was a sharp double click, as of the opening of a briefcase. Then Jäger spoke again. "Look at it, Hochstetter. Beautiful, isn't it? This was the first piece I ever collected, years ago, in Dresden. I look on it as a good-luck charm. It goes everywhere with me." He stopped for a moment, as if gloating over whatever it was. "Extremely valuable, of course, even if only for the sheer brilliance of the craftsmanship. But to a collector, price is no object."

"I think I have seen such things before," said Hochstetter softly. "You found it in Dresden, you say. Would that by chance have been at the Green Vault? You were there, when they removed the contents for safe storage before the war."

"Yes, I was fortunate enough to assist in the evacuation." Jäger's voice had also softened. "My interest in collecting art objects began there. I've found it to be a very rewarding pursuit. Very rewarding indeed. And it could be just as rewarding for you."

"What are you suggesting?" murmured Hochstetter.

"I'm making an offer, Hochstetter. You could very easily start a collection of your own. I can arrange for a few items to come your way, very discreetly, of course. All you have to do is give up this unhealthy fixation with the Amber Room."

He gave Hochstetter a moment, then added, "Don't make a decision at once, Major. Take a little time to think it over. I'll leave my good luck piece here. You can start your own collection with it, if you agree to my proposal. I just need to have a few words with Kommandant Klink, if you'll excuse me. _Heil Hitler_."

Hochstetter didn't answer him; and a moment later, Carter heard the inner door open and close, then the outer door. Then silence, for what felt like a very long time, although he was pretty sure it was only a couple of minutes, before the first door opened and closed again, and Hochstetter's stick thudded across the outer office floor and out of the building.

Carter stayed where he was, until he was quite sure the major had gone. Only then did he creep out of the cupboard, aching in every limb. He went to the outer door, and eased it open slightly. No good; Private Hochhauser remained on sentry duty. It would have to be the window.

He retreated to Klink's office. Everything looked as usual, which didn't seem right, after what had been going on in here. The only thing out of place was one of the Kommandant's chess pieces, sitting alone on the desk where it ought not to be.

Then Carter took a closer look. It wasn't one of Klink's pawns, that was for sure. Without thinking, he picked it up. It was a small thing, of no obvious use; an elaborately lathe-turned pedestal supporting a sphere of lattice-work. Through the gaps, he could see another fully-enclosed, equally ornate globe, and inside that another; the whole apparently carved from a single piece of ivory.

It had to be the item Jäger had left there, the "good luck piece" with which he'd tried to tempt Hochstetter. From the look of things, Hochstetter hadn't taken the bait. Carter frowned as he studied it. Then he slipped it into his pocket; Colonel Hogan would probably want to see it.

He went to the window, checking to make sure the coast was clear, then made a quick exit and hurried back to the barracks. For once, he was pretty sure he wouldn't have any trouble remembering everything. He had a feeling he'd remember that conversation as long as he lived.

* * *

_"The Art of War" is generally attributed to Sun Tzu (c. 544 BC- c. 496 BC),__ Chinese military strategist and philosopher. Whether he actually existed or not is a matter of debate._

_The Green Vault is part of the Dresden State Art Collections, and holds one of the finest collections of art treasures in the world. The building was damaged during the war, however the contents were evacuated. __They were seized by the Soviet Army and ultimately returned to Dresden in 1958. The Green Vault has since been restored._

_Among the Dresden collection are __several examples of carved ivory polyhedra and "contrefait" globes. _


	33. Chapter 33

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with this man."

Klink waved a dismissive hand at O'Hare, who was sitting on his bunk, his bare foot, with a bandage around the ankle, lying on top of the blanket.

"Well, I can't help it," replied Hogan petulantly. "He was in terrible pain only half an hour ago." He paused, then went on meditatively, "It just goes to show, there's more than one use for a cold compress."

Schultz sniggered, but the Kommandant remained unamused. "Hogan, if I thought you had deliberately set out to waste my time..."

"Oh, come on, Kommandant." Hogan spread both hands in protest. "I don't need to drag you out of your office to waste your time, I can do it right there. In fact, it's easier."

"Well, you've certainly had plenty of practice," muttered Klink, scowling at him

Hogan smirked, and went on. "Anyway, I'd just like to point out that, had the injury turned out to be serious, then in order to comply with Article 27 of the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention you would have been required to provide a written statement as to the nature and cause..."

"Yes, yes, I know the rules, Hogan," Klink interrupted. "It's just that you always seem to apply them at the most inconvenient moments."

Hogan frowned slightly as he considered. "It does seem like that, doesn't it? Tell you what, I'll issue a general order to all the prisoners to check with your office in future before they go hurting themselves."

"It would certainly help if - Hogan!" Klink clenched his fists, as the penny dropped. "Just make sure, the next time you report an emergency to me, that it really is an emergency. A minor incident like this could have been reported to the sergeant of the guard."

"You mean, Schultz," said Hogan.

"That's right."

"Who was in your office at the time."

"That's right...well...Just don't let it happen again, Hogan," Klink finished up. He paused indecisively, then uttered a frustrated growl, turned on his heel and stalked out of the barracks.

"Colonel Hogan, you should not tease the Kommandant," observed Schultz, gently reproachful. "It only makes him angry."

"I know. That's the fun part." Hogan nodded to O'Hare, and strolled out into the compound.

Schultz followed him. "Colonel Hogan," he said tentatively. "Major Hochstetter wanted to talk to me."

"I know, Schultz." Hogan's eyes were on Klink, who had reached the steps of his office, but was visibly hesitant about entering.

"And Colonel Jäger asked me about Heiligen, and about my having seen Hochstetter there," Schultz went on.

"What did you tell him?" asked Hogan, with a quick glance at the sergeant.

He could have predicted the response: "I know nothing. Nothing."

"Just stick to that, if either of them asks you."

"But, please, Colonel Hogan, if I would keep information from the Gestapo, or from a colonel of the SS, it would be worth my life."

"It might be worth your life if you don't, Schultz," said Hogan. "Think about it. Remember what Hochstetter said about an SS commander being involved in a certain matter? Trust me, Schultz. The last thing you want is for Colonel Jäger to find out how much you know about the Amber Room. So don't lose your head."

"Oh, I wish you hadn't said that," muttered Schultz, and wandered off in the direction of the sergeants' mess.

Hogan headed back towards Barracks 2. Just as he reached the barracks door, Jäger emerged from the Kommandant's office. Klink, still loitering, hurried forward to speak to him, but remained at ground level, tilting his head back to look up at Jäger. Then the SS colonel came down the steps, and walked off with Klink, in the direction of the Kommandant's private quarters.

Hogan went on into the barracks, closed the door behind him, and took up a position at one of the windows, with a clear view of the Kommandantur. For a couple of minutes there was no activity; then the door was thrown open, and Hochstetter came stumping out. The guard on duty stepped forward to offer his assistance; Hochstetter repulsed him, but the young private continued to hover in anxious solicitude as the major made a slow and painful descent. Reaching the ground safely, he turned on the guard, questioning him fiercely, before he set off, in the direction indicated by Private Hochhauser, towards the sergeants' mess.

_Going to talk to Schultz again,_ thought Hogan. _Well, we can only hope Schultz still knows nothing_.

He debated briefly with himself whether it might be advisable to head Hochstetter off; but before he could make a move, Carter came around the corner of the Kommandantur, and hurried across the yard.

Hogan opened the door for him, and pulled him inside. "You okay?" he asked sharply.

Carter nodded. "Sure, Colonel..." he wheezed, the last syllable dissolving into an uncontrollable choking cough, as he stumbled to the nearest chair, and grasped the back for support. Hogan grabbed a mug and filled it with water. The paroxysm eased; Carter collapsed onto his bunk and leaned forward, panting. His breathing steadied, and he straightened up, accepted the mug with both hands and took a long drink.

"Sorry," he whispered. "It was really dusty in that closet."

"Yeah. Take your time, Carter," said Hogan. He went back to the window and looked around. There was no sign of either Hochstetter or Jäger.

He turned back to Carter. "Feeling better? Then the first thing I want to know is why you were even in there. Was there a problem with the coffee pot?"

"I couldn't get it to work," said Carter, a touch of defensiveness in his tone. "The closet was the only thing I could think of."

"Yeah, I thought it might have been something like that," sighed Hogan, his eyes going back to the compound. "I guess there wasn't much else you could do. Okay, what did you hear? Just the important parts, for now. I'll get the full play-by-play later."

"They ain't playing, Colonel." Carter groped in his pocket. "There's something funny going on. 'Cause when Jäger was talking just to Klink, he kind of hinted that Hochstetter was being investigated. But then after you and Klink left, well, he turned round and offered to cut Hochstetter in."

Hogan glanced at him. "Cut him in on what?"

Carter found what he was searching his pocket for, and held it out to Hogan. "He said if Hochstetter wanted to get in on the art collecting racket, all he had to do was drop the Amber Room investigation. And he gave him this to start with, but Hochstetter didn't take it. He left it right there on Klink's desk."

Hogan took the little piece of worked ivory, turning it in his fingers with unconscious delicacy. "And you picked it up," he murmured.

"I thought you'd want to see it." Again, Carter's voice took on a defensive edge. "Anyway, it doesn't belong to them. Jäger stole it, from some vault in Dresden. Maybe we could send it back, some way." He paused, his eyes on the pretty trinket. "Colonel, why would he do that? I mean, why accuse Hochstetter of corruption one minute, then try to buy him off the next? It doesn't make sense."

"Oh, yes, it does," replied Hogan grimly. "Jäger doesn't do anything without a good reason. We just don't know what it is yet. What else did Jäger and Hochstetter talk about?"

He went back to his surveillance of the yard, while Carter, frowning in concentration, delved through his memory for the most important details. "About looking for Irma, and those other two little girls. Uh...Jäger said...well, he didn't, but from what he did say...Colonel, that girl, the one Zauner said they took away..." His voice wavered a little, but he took a deep breath, and went on. "I think she might be dead, Colonel."

It came as no surprise to Hogan. "What exactly did he say?" he asked, keeping his voice level.

Carter hesitated. "He was talking about Irma, saying he just wanted to be sure she was safe. And Hochstetter asked him about the other girls, about how safe they were, and he said..."

"Go on," said Hogan, turning to look at him.

Carter didn't reply for a couple of seconds. A subtle change came over him; his expression shifted from his usual amiability, and his whole body seemed to realign itself. It was the same eerie transformation which occasionally accompanied his German officer impersonations; and his voice, when he spoke, sent a chill down Hogan's spine.

_Believe me, Hochstetter, she couldn't be safer_.

An ice-cold smile lingered on Carter's lips for a second. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the alien personality vanished.

"He's a real bad guy, Colonel," he added. "He even had me rooting for Hochstetter, that's how bad he is."

"Anything else?" asked Hogan, after a moment.

Carter searched his memory again. "Well, he knows Hochstetter comes round here a lot, he mentioned that. He said something about knowing your enemy."

"_Know your enemy, and know yourself_," Hogan said quickly. "Yeah, I've heard that before."

Carter thought it over. "I don't think he said anything about knowing himself. But he seems to know Hochstetter, all right."

"Not as well as he thinks," replied Hogan, fingering the carved ivory again. "Hochstetter didn't take the bait."

"Well, in that case, Hochstetter better watch his back." Carter spoke with unusual animosity.

Hogan nodded, but his attention was elsewhere. Jäger and Klink had just come back into sight, walking towards Jäger's car, where his men had been waiting patiently for him. As they arrived at the office steps, Jäger suddenly stopped, wrinkled his brow, then laughed. He was too far away for Hogan to hear, even if the window had been open, but his gesture towards the office was unmistakeable. Klink turned to the sentry at the door with an order, but Jäger interrupted, and went quickly up the steps and into the building.

"What's he up to now?" asked Carter, joining Hogan at the window.

"He's probably told Klink he forgot his gloves, or something," replied Hogan. "But you can bet your life, what he really wants is to find out if his offer's been accepted."

As Jäger came back out of the office, Hochstetter hobbled into sight, the scowl on his face visible even at a distance. Apparently he hadn't got much joy from Schultz. He headed straight for his car, but Jäger hastened to intercept him, beckoning to his own men. Hochstetter stopped in his tracks, regarding his adversary with such vicious contempt that Hogan felt briefly put out. "He's never looked at me like that," he remarked, a trifle petulantly.

He couldn't hear Jäger, but Hochstetter's voice echoed clear across the compound: "You would dare to accost an officer of the Gestapo - what are these men doing?"

What they were doing was obvious. Hochstetter resisted briefly, then with another furious glare, submitted to what proved to be a thorough, but apparently fruitless, body search.

"Gosh," whispered Carter. "What the heck are they looking for?"

"They're looking for this." Hogan glanced at the ivory trinket in his hand. "That's why Jäger told Klink that Hochstetter was under investigation. He was setting Hochstetter up."

"But Hochstetter didn't take it." Carter's eyes were wide with consternation.

"No, he didn't," replied Hogan. "But thanks to you, Jäger thinks he did. And that's just what we want."

"How do you mean, Colonel?"

"Simple, Carter." Hogan was watching the commotion with a smile. "Now Hochstetter knows what Jäger's game is, and Jäger knows that Hochstetter knows. With any luck, for the next couple of days they'll be too busy trying to knock each other off to waste any time trying to track down our girl, and that'll be just our chance to get her out of here."


	34. Chapter 34

"I don't know about you, Carter," remarked Hogan, watching the altercation in front of the Kommandant's office, "but I'm enjoying the show."

Carter gave a snicker. "Nice to see Hochstetter on the business end of a body search, for a change."

The SS men under Jäger's command finished investigating Hochstetter's person; they moved on to his driver, and then to his staff car.

"All the same, I think we'd better break it up," Hogan went on.

"Aw, gee, Colonel, do we have to?" said Carter. "I mean, couldn't we just let Hochstetter and Jäger duke it out between themselves?"

"We could, but we're not going to." Hogan glanced at the little ivory polyhedron in his hand. "For a start, this has to go back to Klink's office. The last thing we want is for either of those two to start a search for it, and maybe turn up something, or someone, that we don't want them to find."

"Yeah, I guess so." Carter's face fell. "But it doesn't seem right, letting Jäger keep it."

"Maybe not. But better he keeps his ill-gotten gains than either he or Hochstetter get their hands on Irma." He passed it back to Carter. "Go through the tunnel to Klink's quarters, and use the connecting door to get into his office. Leave it on the floor, close to the desk, as if it fell there by accident. Then get out of there, fast. I'll keep 'em out of there for a couple of minutes, then go in and make sure it gets found."

"Yes, sir." Carter turned to go; but Hogan detained him.

"One more thing, Carter" he said. "When they were talking to Schultz, did the name of the hotel in Heiligen come up?"

A little pucker drew Carter's eyebrows in, as he tried to remember. "Uh...I'm not sure, Colonel...wait a minute." He closed his eyes tightly, replaying the scene in his head. "Yeah, I think...I'm pretty sure he mentioned it."

Hogan tilted his head back, frowning. "All right. After you leave Klink's quarters, go and see where Kinch and his work crew are up to in the emergency tunnel, and if he can leave the job, bring him up to speed, and bring him back here. But keep clear of the guest quarters. I don't want Zauner or Irma finding out we've got visitors until I have a plan for dealing with it. Clear? Then get going."

Carter hastened off on his mission, and Hogan straightened up, put on his most guileless expression, and headed out to do his part.

"Hi, Kommandant," he said cheerfully. "What's up? Did you lose something?"

"Hogan, this is none of your business," muttered Klink, midway between vexation and trepidation.

"What are you looking for?" Hogan persisted. "Maybe I can help. I'm real good at finding things. Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

Klink glared at him. "Dismissed, Hogan."

"There is nothing to find," said Hochstetter. "Is there, _Herr Standartenführer_?" His eyes, bright with malice, stayed fixed on Jäger, who had lost some of his complacency.

Jäger glanced at his men, who had finished going over Hochstetter's car; their obvious embarrassment appeared to put a serious strain on his self-control. "Apparently there has been a misunderstanding," he growled. "Very well, Major, you are free to leave."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," replied Hochstetter with a tight smile. "I'm most curious to see whether you find your lost item."

"Well, gee, I wish you let me help," said Hogan plaintively. "I bet if I got some of the guys out here, we'd track it down in no time. I mean, how hard can it be to find a...what did you say it was again?"

"Stay out of this, Hogan." The whining note of desperation entered the Kommandant's voice. "Your assistance is the last thing we need. I'm sure it'll turn up soon...whatever it is," he finished lamely.

Hogan wasn't at all discouraged. "Did you look in the recreation hall?" he offered, after a moment of cogitation. "Remember when you lost that tank? It turned up in the rec. hall, didn't it?"

"Hogan!" Klink's hands clenched; he seemed almost about to stamp his feet.

"Well, it was just a suggestion," mumbled Hogan, instantly huffy.

"You seem very anxious to be helpful, Colonel," observed Jäger, turning a sharp, narrow gaze on him.

Hogan shrugged. "Just trying to keep things friendly. I don't know why I bother, though, I never get any appreciation. Well, I'll tell you something, Kommandant, the next time you're in a panic because you can't find your monocle..."

"Thank you, that will do," interrupted Jäger. "Klink, I think I would prefer to continue my investigation into this matter in the privacy of your office."

"One moment, please." Everyone turned, as Hochstetter's voice cut in. The major hobbled forward, his expression so amiable that Klink instinctively took a few steps sideways to take refuge behind Hogan. However, Hochstetter ignored both of them; his attention was all for Jäger.

"_Herr Standartenführer_," he said pleasantly, "don't you think you owe me an apology?"

"That sounds fair," remarked Hogan; and immediately gained the totally unfamiliar experience of meeting Hochstetter's eyes in a shared moment of wry amusement.

_Don't get carried away_, he told himself sternly. _Remember, it's still Hochstetter._

Jäger must have been aware of the fleeting exchange, but he didn't comment on it. He continued to glare at Hochstetter for a few seconds, then without a word swung round and strode into the office. Klink scurried after him, and with a final grin at Hochstetter, Hogan followed.

He closed the door behind him, and rested his shoulders against it, unnoticed by either of the Germans. Jäger threw his gloves on the desk, placed both hands flat on the surface, and leaned slightly forward. "It seems our friend Hochstetter is cleverer than I thought. Somehow he realised the danger he was in, and managed to dispose of the evidence."

"He can't get away with this," grumbled Klink. "I will order an immediate search of the entire camp. If you will just tell me exactly what we're looking for..."

"That information is classified, Klink." Jäger straightened up. "Perhaps he passed it to an accomplice. Who does he see, whenever he comes here?"

Klink was dumbstruck for a moment. "Sir," he said at last, his voice trembling with indignation, "if you think any of my guards could possibly carry on any kind of underhand activity without my knowledge..."

He swung round, at a soft chuckle from the door. "Hogan, what are you doing here?" he snapped.

Hogan gave him a puzzled look. "Where else would I be? If we're going to have a private consultation..."

"You're not included," growled Klink. "Return to your barracks at once."

"Well, for Pete's sake, Kommandant, there's no need to get all German about it," replied Hogan. "I can tell when I'm not wanted." He didn't dare overdo it, while Jäger was watching. As long as the man had him down as just not very bright, that was fine; if he guessed he was being conned, then things would get ugly.

"Believe me, Hogan, you are not wanted." Klink started to walk around the desk, but a sudden crunching underfoot brought him to a halt. "What in the world...?" he mumbled.

He stepped back, stooped and picked something up off the floor.

"Gee, Kommandant, you should be more careful with your chess pieces," remarked Hogan. "I mean, that's just wrecked."

"Yes, it is," agreed Klink, gazing in dismay at the handful of ivory splinters. "You know, I could have sworn I put them all away after the last time we played."

Jäger was also staring at the shattered ornament. Hogan risked a quick glance at him, and was startled at what he saw. It was like watching a man receive bad news from home. _He really loved that thing!_ thought Hogan.

The revelation lasted barely a second, then Jäger had himself under control again. Whether he suspected or not, he wasn't giving anything away. "Kommandant, I must apologise," he said, his manner cool and disinterested. "Of course, you know your men are to be trusted, it was impertinent of me to suggest otherwise."

His eyes flickered to Hogan, and Klink took the hint at once. "Hogan, I won't tell you again. Either you take yourself off, or I will have you removed, to the cooler."

"Okay, I'm going." Hogan yanked the door open. "But that's the last time I try to make myself useful round here."

He would have liked to hear the rest of the conversation, but the closet wasn't an option this time. Klink remained at the inner door, watching until Hogan left the building. He had no choice but to head back to the barracks.

Hochstetter's car was already gone. Presumably the major had realised just how hostile the situation had become, and in spite of his declared intention to stay, he had retreated to the safety of town. But it wouldn't end there. Hochstetter wasn't about to let this go. Nor was Jäger going down without a fight. And Irma, through sheer bad luck, was right at the heart of their struggle.

Somehow, she had to be brought to safety; and the seed of an idea, planted in Hogan's mind by what Carter had overheard, was beginning to germinate. It would make demands on both the girl and her grandfather which Hogan wasn't sure they could meet. But if they could pull it off, they'd be safe in England within a week.


	35. Chapter 35

"I still say we should teach her _La Marseillaise_," said LeBeau. "It's a much better song, and ..."

"Do me a favour, LeBeau." Newkirk replied in exasperated tones. "She's not going to Paris, and it's hardly going to help her out in Piccadilly, is it? And anyway, you don't get much better than _Land of Hope and Glory_. That's Elgar, that is."

"Oh, it's Elgar, is it? Well, of course, that's different," replied LeBeau scornfully. "Typical English composer, all pomp and circuses."

"You mean, pomp and circumstance." Newkirk rolled his eyes.

"I know what I mean," said LeBeau, with a sideways glance at Irma, and the hint of a smirk.

She blushed, trying not to giggle, and looked down at her work, turning slightly away to keep it out of sight. Zauner's assertion that she was a competent needlewoman had proved to be accurate. From the storage room, LeBeau had dug out an old parachute, torn beyond repair, and the silky fabric was rapidly being refashioned into plain, serviceable underclothes.

Zauner, unable to contribute to the work, and sure these men were to be trusted around his granddaughter, had dozed off. They let him sleep; he needed to be well rested for the journey ahead.

"All right, tell you what." Newkirk stood up and stretched. "Why don't we ask the Prime Minister?" He allowed his eyelids to droop a little, and his lips to push forward, while his shoulders fell, drawing his head forward; and when he spoke, it was in a rich, sonorous tone, very deliberately paced and embellished with a slight lisp. "In my humble opinion, this splendid piece of music sums up the fighting spirit of the people of this great island nation, a spirit which will never give in to the gangsterism of Herr Hitler and his Nazi thugs."

Irma gazed at him, puzzled and doubtful, while LeBeau sniggered. "When did Sydney Greenstreet become the Prime Minister of England?"

"Sydney Greenst- oh, you pillock," growled Newkirk. "Oh, so you think that's funny, do you, miss? I bet you never even heard of Sydney Greenstreet."

Irma composed herself, trying to look serious. "Is he not the Prime Minister of...?" The rest of the sentence broke apart into helpless laughter.

Newkirk returned to his seat, and picked up the jacket he was working on. "Fine. If you two are going to play silly beggars, we might as well all join in. Give your granddad a nudge, Irma, and we'll have a quartet for _The Lambeth Walk_."

Carter and Kinch, on their way to the barracks, heard the echoes a few minutes later. "I guess I don't need to ask who started that," said Kinch, with a grin.

Carter stopped for a moment to listen. "Gee, it sounds like they're having fun. I guess Irma hasn't had much of a chance to just be a kid for a while."

"She'll get plenty of time for that, once we get her safely out of Germany." Kinch spoke confidently enough; but he wasn't so sure. He knew better than most what prejudice could do. _A German kid, going to school in England - I sure hope it works out_, he thought. He didn't say anything to Carter, but he made up his mind to speak to the colonel about it. Irma had been through enough already. She wasn't going to have to put up with the same kind of crap he'd known at her age, not if he had any say in it.

* * *

Hogan stood at the barracks window, gazing across the yard. The dull, heavy gloom seemed to have lightened over the last few minutes; it looked as if the clouds were finally lifting.

Jäger's car, surrounded by his escort of soldiers, still stood in front of the Kommandantur. Why Jäger was still hanging around was anyone's guess; perhaps he hoped to take another crack at getting information out of Schultz.

Hogan wasn't too worried about that. Once Schultz had decided to know nothing, that was generally the end of the matter; simple fear would keep him from admitting anything. But there had been someone else present, when Hochstetter had spilled the beans about the Amber Room, and that person was a lot more vulnerable than Schultz.

The tunnel entrance opened, and Kinch appeared, with Carter close behind him.

"How'd it go, Colonel?" asked the latter. "Did they find it?"

"Right where you left it, Carter," replied Hogan. "Klink trod on it."

Carter's face fell. "Did it break? Aw, darn it, I bet it was one of a kind, too."

"Yeah, well, so is Irma." Hogan's eyes hardened, as he looked back towards the office. "Given the choice, which would you rather save?"

"Well, that's easy, Colonel. Of course, it's got to be Irma," said Carter. "But that don't mean I wouldn't save both, if I had the chance." He followed the line of Hogan's gaze. "You know what? If you distracted those guys for five minutes, that's all I'd need to fix up an explosive charge with a delayed action fuse, right on top of the gas tank."

"Carter." Hogan's response was sharper than he intended, and Carter shrank back.

"You gotta admit, Colonel, it's tempting," murmured Kinch.

"Oh, it's tempting, all right. It's almost irresistible. This guy's probably a lot more dangerous than we thought. I was watching him when that little souvenir of Dresden got broken, and he was genuinely upset. Seriously upset. I don't think it's about the monetary value. He's not an investor, he's a collector. And sometimes collectors get obsessive about protecting what they have. That might be what we're dealing with here.""

"So if he's that dangerous," Kinch persisted, "why not just get rid of him before any more innocent people get hurt?"

"He's a real bad person, Colonel," Carter added. "I always thought everyone had some good in them, but not him. He's just bad all through."

Hogan sighed. "Okay, let's say we knock him off. There'd be an investigation, it might lead back here...well, you know how it ends? We're in front of a firing squad, and Irma's playing Twenty Questions with Hochstetter. Of course she won't hold out." He saw Carter flinch at that, but he went on relentlessly. "So Hochstetter will track down the Amber Room, and maybe the information on the Paris resistance that Jäger's got hidden away." Hogan folded his arms, and sighed. "If we play it cool now, Irma will be safe in London in a few days. Jäger's time will come, but for everyone's sake, it can't be here, and it can't be now."

Carter gazed out at the staff car, and didn't answer.

"You've got a plan, Colonel," said Kinch. It wasn't a question; he knew.

"I've got an idea, if we can swing it." Hogan put his hand on Carter's shoulder, and drew him away from the window. "Carter, you said Schultz gave Jäger the name of the hotel in Heiligen. That could mean trouble for Gisela Stadler. Next thing you know, she could have Jäger trying to find out what she knows, or Hochstetter getting paranoid about having spilled the beans and deciding to check whether she can be trusted. She needs to get out of there, before her Underground connections come to light, or before Jäger decides to deal with her the same way he does with all his other loose ends."

"You thinking of bringing her here?" asked Kinch, gazing at him seriously.

"Not just her," replied Hogan. "Heiligen's a pretty small place. Carter, you grew up in a small town, right?"

"That's right, Colonel." Carter tilted his head a little, as he tried to follow the drift of the conversation.

"Tell me something. In that home town of yours, if a well-respected married man in some kind of position of authority got involved with a widow who ran a hotel, how easy would it have been for them to keep it quiet?"

"Are you kidding, boy - sir?" Carter snickered. "You mean, like Major Dietrich and Mrs Stadler? You can just bet your life, everyone in town would know, except his wife. And I bet she knows too, even if she thinks she doesn't."

"So if Gisela Stadler's suddenly nowhere to be found, it won't be long before Dietrich is called on to answer questions," said Hogan. "And he's got just as much to hide as she has. That got me thinking. You know, Major Dietrich has something we can use to get Zauner and Irma out of here, and safely on their way."

"What's that, Colonel?" Kinch had started smiling, not certain where Hogan's mind was going, but sure it was somewhere good.

Hogan grinned at him, but didn't answer the question. "Carter, stay here and keep an eye on Jäger. If he leaves, I want to know right away. Kinch, you come with me. I need to place a phone call to Major Dietrich. Or rather, Captain Hoganmüller does."

Leaving Carter staring after him in complete bewilderment, he swung himself onto the ladder and descended to the tunnel, with Kinch just behind him.

"I'm still in the dark, Colonel," remarked Kinch, while they waited at the switchboard for the call to reach its destination. "I can see where you're coming from, as far as getting Gisela Stadler and Major Dietrich out, but how does that help us with our current problem? Whatever Dietrich's got, must be something pretty special."

"Oh, it is, Kinch," replied Hogan, with a meditative smile. "You see, Major Dietrich is a married man. That means..."

He broke off, as Kinch held up his hand. "Hello? Is this the 3rd Artillery Training Brigade? I have a call for Major Dietrich...Captain Hoganmüller, Luftwaffe Intelligence...yes, I'll hold." He covered the mouthpiece. "So he's a married man. What does that give him, apart from a wife?"

"Something much more useful to us," said Hogan. "A father-in-law, who just happens to be a field marshal."

Kinch's forehead knotted. "You mean...You don't mean...You're kidding, right?"

Hogan rested his elbow on the top of the switchboard. "It's not a done deal yet, Kinch. We don't have a lot of time to organise this. But if we can pull it together..."

Once again Kinch stopped him in mid-sentence. "Major Dietrich? I have a call for you." He nodded to Hogan, who picked up the receiver.

"Major Dietrich, this is Captain Hoganmüller. We met a few days ago, at Heiligen. At the hotel in town - what is it called again? The Winter Sun?"

"_Die Sonne_, Captain. I remember." The tension in Dietrich's voice was audible over the line. He'd clearly recognised the code phrase Hogan had left with Gisela Stadler, for use in case of an emergency. "What can I do for you?"

"There are a few outstanding matters I need to clear up. I wonder if you might be able to spare a few minutes of your time. Of course, as you know, the case is a little sensitive. Are you able to talk freely?"

"One moment, please." The voice at the other end became muffled. "Corporal, take these requisitions back to the quartermaster's office, and tell him to check the figures again. I'm not satisfied with them." There was a pause, then Dietrich spoke again. "I am alone. Is there a problem?"

"There could be." Hogan dropped the act. "Gisela Stadler may be about to become a person of interest, both to the Gestapo and the SS."

"I understand," said Dietrich. "What must I do?"

"First priority, get her out of Heiligen, and bring her to our people in Hammelburg. And given the circumstances, it's probably in your interests to come with her."

A few moments passed before Dietrich replied. "Are you certain this is necessary?"

"Certain enough, Dietrich. These guys don't fool around, and if Gisela's nowhere to be found when they come looking for her, they'll start asking questions about her, and no matter how discreet you think you've been, it won't be long before your name comes up."

"But, sir..." Dietrich broke off, and Hogan could hear him breathing hard. "What about my wife?"

"I know," said Hogan. "Her father's pretty close to the _Führer_, but things could still get uncomfortable for her. Is there any chance you could convince her to come along?"

Dietrich sighed softly. "At the moment, I would have no chance of convincing her of anything. She is on her way to Berlin, to her father's house. Our marriage is effectively over. It was bound to come to this, but the timing is poor."

"Actually, it's pretty good," murmured Hogan. "I think we can make this work, without your wife having to face any unpleasant consequences. Just answer a couple of questions for me. Firstly, what's the situation with your unit?"

"We are on standby for relocation," replied Dietrich. "Because of the flood, and the expected long-term effects on the local geography, this area is no longer considered suitable for artillery training. We've heard a rumour that we will be reassigned to combat, possibly on the Russian Front."

"Does anyone there know your wife has left you?"

"Not yet. Once they realise my father-in-law isn't going to have me transferred to a safe non-combat desk job, they might guess." The words were spoken bitterly; the field marshal's interference obviously rankled. "A lot of people have left town because of the flooding. It has been worse since you were here. My colleagues have assumed Liesl has gone to Berlin for the same reason."

"So far so good," said Hogan. "Does your father-in-law get out of Berlin much?"

"Only to accompany the _Führer _to Berchtesgaden, or sometimes to travel to France on vacation," replied Dietrich slowly. "But what has that to do with..."

"Trust me, Dietrich. It'll all make sense. One last question, if it's not too personal. You and your wife don't have any children, right?" Hogan waited for a few seconds, but Dietrich didn't reply. "That being the case, does your wife's father have any grandchildren, or any young people who he might take with him when he goes on vacation?"

"Actually, my wife has a son, by her first marriage," said Dietrich. "He is at school in Potsdam, but he spends a lot of time with his grandfather. His name is Rudi, he is aged eleven." From the edge on his voice, it seemed Dietrich didn't much care for the boy.

Hogan had begun to smile, the smile he always wore when the pieces fell into place. "Okay, Dietrich, here's how it'll work. I'll have one of my men call your commanding officer, and pass on an order from Field Marshal von Kremmer for you to report to Berlin immediately for reassignment - the paperwork to be sent later. You'll pick up Gisela Stadler from town and drive to Hammelburg, where you will go to the Café Mandelbaum. Ask to speak to Otto, and give him the recognition code 'Winter Sun'. He'll tell you what to do from there. And Dietrich - make sure you bring a car suitable for a field marshal to travel in."

He handed the receiver back to Kinch, who was gazing at him. "Colonel, you've come up with some wild plans in your time, but if you're thinking what I think you're thinking...You really think we can pull this one off? What if Jäger's still hanging around? Or what if Hochstetter comes back?"

"That's what I'm counting on, Kinch," replied Hogan. "If we play it right, those two will be so busy chasing each other all over the countryside that we'll be able to send Zauner and Irma straight out the front gate without a single question being asked."


	36. Chapter 36

"You mean after all the work we've already done, now you want us to make him a field marshal?"

Hogan met Newkirk's indignant outburst with a look of mild enquiry, belied by the gleam in his eye. "That's right, Newkirk," he said calmly. "And Irma's got to look like an eleven-year old boy. Preferably by tomorrow morning. That's not too soon, is it?"

"But, please, Colonel," Zauner put in, "I don't understand. What purpose does it serve for me to be disguised as a field marshal?"

Hogan glanced at Irma, who gazed back with a slight tilt to her head, and her eyebrows just starting to draw in. "It's the best way to get you out of here in a hurry," he explained. "We can't wait for the emergency tunnel to be safe to use, that could take several days. And unfortunately, while you've all been working down here, the situation's gotten a little more complicated. Some people turned up who we could have done without."

"Colonel Jäger," murmured LeBeau. Irma's eyes widened, and she moved closer to her grandfather, clutching his arm with nervous fingers.

"I'm afraid so," said Hogan. "Also Major Hochstetter, of the Gestapo. But don't worry, I've already worked out how to get them both out of our hair for a few hours. Or rather, let's say, how to persuade them to get each other out of the way." He kept his eyes on Irma as he finished. She was the weak point in the scheme he'd worked out; if she took fright now, it would make things much harder. He wasn't surprised to see she had turned pale, and had pressed her lips tightly together to stop them from trembling.

"Can you do that?" Zauner stared at him, dazed.

"I think we can pull it off. While neither of them is exactly on our side, they're still not playing for the same team. They're both more concerned with making sure the other doesn't find you than with finding you themselves. So all we have to do is convince each of them you're somewhere else, and hint that the other's already on his way there."

"And that will send both of them off in pursuit of each other," LeBeau finished up.

"Exactly." Hogan relaxed into a smile.

"But why the field marshal's uniform?" Newkirk asked, still slightly peevish. "We can do it, all right - we've already got one, as a matter of fact - but how's it going to help?"

"Newkirk, you're not thinking," replied Hogan. "Just because Hochstetter and Jäger are out of the picture, doesn't mean our friends can just stroll out the front gate. We still have to get them past Klink and the guards. Now, if Dr. Zauner and his granddaughter suddenly turn up in the middle of camp, some awkward questions are going to be asked. But Field Marshal von Kremmer is a different matter. If he should happen to be on his way to Paris with his family, and if he should be passing very close to the toughest POW camp in all of Germany - well, of course he's going to stop for a quick look, right?"

Zauner rubbed a hand across his forehead. "His family?"

"Yes, his daughter and son-in-law. You remember Major Dietrich, Irma?"

"Yes, I remember," whispered Irma. "He was nice." The memory seemed to reassure her, although after a momentary pause, she added, "I didn't like her."

"That's okay. Unfortunately Frau Dietrich can't make it, so we're going to ask Gisela Stadler from the hotel in Heiligen to stand in for her," replied Hogan.

"I'm sure she'll be delighted to take the place of Dietrich's wife," observed Newkirk dryly; then coloured slightly as LeBeau gave him a warning cough. He went on quickly: "But hang on a minute, Colonel. How's Irma fit into this?"

"She'll fit in just fine," replied Hogan, with perfect confidence. "With the right clothes, of course. And a haircut. A very short haircut. You'll go along with that, right, Irma?"

Her free hand reached up to clutch at the long plait falling down her back, and her chin quivered. "I don't want to," she faltered.

"Maybe not, but it's got to be done," said Hogan. "I don't think it's likely Jäger has told Klink he's looking for you, but I can't rule it out, so I want to play it safe. For everyone's sake, not just yours. You understand that."

"_Ja_," she murmured uncertainly. "But..."

"So you're going to have to pretend to be a boy." Hogan smiled at the look of disgust on her face. "Yeah, I know, it's a nasty job, but someone has to do it."

She giggled, though it was very wobbly, and Hogan's smile grew warmer. "Good girl."

Then he turned his head, as Kinch appeared at the entrance. "It's all set up, Colonel," he said. "Otto knows what's needed, and he'll clue up Dietrich when he gets there. He'll keep them there overnight, and send them to Stalag 13 tomorrow, about mid-morning. And he'll make sure they look the part - he'll supply some empty luggage to go on top of the car, and a dressy travelling outfit for the lady."

"Nothing too tasteful, I hope. Frau Dietrich has a very individual style," murmured Hogan, eliciting another chuckle from Irma.

Carter was just behind Kinch. He didn't say anything, but going by the look he gave Hogan, something was going on above ground. Without any change in expression, Hogan stood up.

"Okay, you all know what to do?" he said. "We don't have a lot of time, so let's get moving. Kinch, you come with me."

He drew Carter along with him as he left. "What's up? Did Jäger leave camp?"

"No," replied Carter. "He came out and said something to his driver, then he and Klink went towards the VIP quarters. But the driver went off, and the other SS guys were in the car with him."

"Which way did they go?" asked Hogan, already sure in his mind of the answer. "Not to Hammelburg, right?"

"Right, Colonel. They turned out of the gate the other way."

"Towards Heiligen." Hogan's mouth tightened. "Just as I thought. What about Jäger?"

"Well, just when I was going to come down and tell you, Schultz came in looking for someone to clean up the VIP hut," said Carter. "Jäger's staying here tonight - for security reasons, according to Schultz. I told him we were all too busy to help out, he asked what we were doing, then said _Wait, __don't __tell __me_, and went off to get some guys from Barracks 3 to do it instead. And serves him right, too," he went on. "Those fellers never sweep right in the corners. You should see what it's like under the bunks in there. Honest, you could grow potatoes..."

"Carter." As always, Hogan didn't need to raise his voice; Carter fell silent on the word.

"Sounds like we called Dietrich just in time, Colonel," Kinch remarked. "You think he'll get her out before they get there?"

"Let's hope so, Kinch," said Hogan.

For the rest of the day nobody took so much as a ten-minute break. The tailors had the most work to do, even though they had a field marshal's uniform available. The only thing missing was the topcoat.

"It belonged to Field Marshall Richter, you know," explained Newkirk, as he checked the fit of the tunic. "Oh, yes, we had him through here, and all. Brilliant plan of the colonel's, actually. We fooled the Gestapo by putting his overcoat on a dummy, and sitting the dummy behind the wheel of his car."

"And then his car got blown up," added LeBeau.

Newkirk shook his head, and tutted. "You wonder how accidents like that happen, sometimes. At any rate, if I just take off the braid from the shoulders and stitch it onto another topcoat, nobody'll know the difference. How's those short trousers coming along, Louis?"

LeBeau held up the pair of knee-length pants he had just finished hemming. "Not bad, for an hour's work. And the blouse you made for her will do as well for a boy as a girl. So once we finish the jacket, and if we can find shoes small enough..."

"Carter's taking care of that," said Newkirk. "He's checking every barracks. Don't like his chances, though. Almost all the men wear boots. And even if he found a decent pair of lace-ups, they'd be miles too big."

But he'd underestimated Carter's resourcefulness. The right shoes had already been found.

Hogan was working on another aspect of the scheme. He strolled across to the VIP hut, where three of the prisoners from Barracks 3 were dawdling through a superficial cleaning under Schultz's eye.

"How's it going, Schultz?" Hogan stood next to the sergeant, watching the work in progress.

Schultz gave him a sideways glance, brimming with suspicion. "Please, Colonel Hogan, not today," he grumbled. "You already put me into enough trouble for one war. Now I have Major Hochstetter on one side, and Colonel Jäger on another, and I don't even want to think about where I will end up if either of them finds out what I was actually doing in Heiligen. Or what you were doing there..." Schultz closed his eyes, and shuddered.

"You know what, Schultz? You're absolutely right," conceded Hogan, after a moment of deep thought. "We behaved very, very badly that night, and we've put you in a really awkward situation. And it's up to us to put it right."

Schultz gave voice to the familiar high-pitched whine of frustration which so often greeted Hogan's offers of assistance. "Colonel Hogan, if you want to help me, then please, I beg of you, don't try to help me."

"Oh, come on, Schultz," Hogan protested. "When have I ever let you down? Look, I've got it all worked out. All you have to do is keep Hochstetter out of the way while we get rid of Jäger."

Schultz grunted. "And just how do you propose to get rid of Colonel Jäger?"

"Well..." Hogan began; but Schultz interrupted him.

"No, don't tell me. This all started because someone told me something. From now on I don't want to be told anything." He sighed, watching listlessly as Evans ran a duster over the mantelpiece, without moving the clock.

There was a moment of silence, then Schultz sniggered. "That's funny. I thought you just said...oh, no, that would be ridiculous."

"What is, Schultz?"

"I thought you just said I had to keep Hochstetter out of the way."

"I did say that," Hogan replied cheerfully. "Oops, steady there, Schultz. Get him a chair, someone."

It took a minute or so for Schultz to get his breath back. Hamilton went to fetch him a glass of water, while Evans stood by, fanning him with the duster.

"Colonel Hogan, you should not make jokes like that," mumbled Schultz eventually.

"It's not a joke, Schultz," replied Hogan; and this time Hamilton had to find the brandy.

It took some time to talk Schultz round; but there was one thing Hogan could always rely on.

"Okay, Schultz, have it your way," he said at last. "But sooner or later, unless we get Jäger out of here, the whole story's going to come out. Gee, I bet Klink's not going to be happy when he finds out you took me and Kinch to Heiligen with you, and then fell asleep at the hotel, leaving us to get up to whatever kind of no good we wanted."

"Oh, boy!" muttered Schultz.

"Tell me, Schultz," Hogan went on, "who are you more scared of, Major Hochstetter, or the Soviet 7th Army?"

Schultz sighed. "Can I have a moment to think about it?"

Ten minutes later, having won cooperation of a sort, Hogan returned to the barracks, where Kinch was waiting for him. "I've just had a radio message, Colonel," he said. "Dietrich and Mrs Stadler have arrived safely in Hammelburg."

Hogan took a deep breath. "That's a relief. How's it going down below?"

"Pretty well finished. You won't know Irma when you see her," replied Kinch, with a grin.

"That'll be in the next few minutes." Hogan returned the grin. "Get everyone up here, will you, Kinch?"

Kinch didn't need to ask why; he went on the word. Before long the whole team was assembled; a subdued excitement rippled through the barracks as the men picked up on Hogan's air of satisfaction.

"Okay, listen up," he said. "Our visitors will be leaving us tomorrow. By this time next week, they should be in England."

He glanced at Irma, who was snuggled close to her grandfather; very red about the eyes, and clearly self-conscious about the short crop she had been given. But she met the twinkle in his eye with a little smile.

He looked around at his men. Whatever the plan was, they were ready. It was time to spell it out.

"But first, we have to get them out of Stalag 13," he said. "And here's how we're going to do it."

* * *

_Note: __Field __Marshal __Richter's __uniform: __from __"The __Defector" __(Season __5)_


	37. Chapter 37

"Well, Colonel, what d'you think? Does he look the part?" Newkirk gave Zauner's lapel a final brushing down, and took a step back, studying his handiwork.

Hogan made his own appraisal. "Not quite," he said at last.

Newkirk went straight on the defensive. "What's wrong with it? You can't say it's not authentic. It's the real thing, you know. All I did to it was put some padding in the shoulders and change the medals round. So if it's not right, you can't blame me for it."

"No, the uniform's fine, Newkirk," Hogan replied, cutting off the flow of protest. "It's not that, it's..." He trailed off, frowning slightly.

"He looks too nice," Carter put in. He had changed into guard's uniform straight after roll call. Now, ready for his part in the day's proceedings, he stood leaning on his rifle, tilting his head as he gazed at Zauner.

"Exactly," said Hogan. "There's more to being a field marshal than just the clown suit. You need the right attitude as well."

Zauner clasped his hands together, meekly apologetic. "Forgive me, Colonel, but I am not certain of how I must act."

"Nasty," replied Hogan. "Remember, you're one of the Führer's top men, and you didn't get there by being likeable. You need to come over very self-important, very overbearing, but condescending towards your inferiors, which is just about everyone."

"I beg your pardon, Colonel," Zauner murmured.

"And don't apologise," Hogan went on. "Field marshals never apologise, not even to Hitler. With him, they don't get the chance. Now, where's Irma - I mean, Rudi?"

He turned around. Irma was sitting on the table behind him, and at sight of her he gave a low whistle. "Well, I'm impressed."

"_Merci, mon Colonel_," replied LeBeau. "Irma, _petite_, don't frown like that. I promise you, short hair is much more _chic._ All the prettiest girls in Paris wear their hair short."

"No, they do not," muttered Irma crossly.

"Never mind whether they do or not." Hogan regarded her with keen satisfaction. The boyish haircut, parted on one side and falling just across her forehead, gave her an entirely different appearance, and the grey serge jacket and short trousers looked to his eyes fairly typical of what he'd seen pre-adolescent boys wearing in Hammelburg. The sulky look put the finishing touch on it. "As far as I'm concerned, she looks perfect. I couldn't ask for better. What about shoes?"

"They're here." LeBeau held them up; a trim, almost new pair of black lace-ups. "Neat, aren't they?"

"Very," Hogan replied grimly. "Where'd they come from?"

"Andrew's been very cagey about that, Colonel," replied Newkirk, with a glance at Carter. "Definitely not from any of the prisoners, I can tell you that much."

Hogan quirked an eyebrow at Carter, who gave a little snicker. "They're Langenscheidt's. You wouldn't guess it from those great big boots the Krauts all seem to wear, but his feet are actually pretty small, and he's still on furlough, so they won't be missed for a few days."

"They're a little too big for Irma," remarked LeBeau. "I had to stuff the toes with newspaper. We were just about to try them on. Give me your foot, _chérie._"

"Cinderella," remarked Newkirk, as Irma stuck one foot out.

She turned her face away so he wouldn't see how close she was to smiling, and leaned forward to scratch her leg through the thick knitted sock, calling down an instant rebuke from LeBeau. "But they itch," she complained, screwing up her nose.

He finished lacing up the shoes, and took her hand as she jumped down from the table. "Will she pass, _Colonel_?"

"I'm sure she will," replied Hogan, taking a long critical look at her. She made a convincing boy, if a little delicate-looking. "LeBeau, go and get changed. Carter, you'd better get going, too. You and Schultz have to get the roadblock set up before Hochstetter gets there."

LeBeau shook the doctor's hand, and touched Irma's cheek with his finger. "_Bonne chance, et bon voyage_," he murmured, and hurried off. Carter hesitated, glanced at Zauner, then gave the girl a quick, brotherly hug.

"You take care, now, and be a good girl, okay?" he murmured. Then he was gone, too.

"Colonel, are you sure about sending Carter out there?" said Newkirk. "What if Hochstetter recognises him? He's seen him often enough."

"And never once made the connection." Hogan grinned. "And he's even less likely to make it right now. That swollen nose of Carter's makes quite a difference."

"You don't think maybe I should go instead?" Newkirk persisted. "It's not that Carter can't manage perfectly well, you know I would never say that. But..."

Hogan cut him short. "Hochstetter would spot you in a second, Newkirk. Same with LeBeau. Carter can handle it. He's only got to keep Schultz up to the mark." He paused for a moment, as his imagination played out the likely scenario. Then he gave a little shake of the head. "He can handle it," he said again. "You better get going, too, before some of us get too old for this. And take it easy. I don't want you putting your shoulder out again."

"Trust me for that, Colonel." Newkirk gave the doctor a wink, chucked Irma under the chin, and sauntered off, passing Kinch who was just arriving.

"Otto just called on the radio, Colonel," he said. "Dietrich and Frau Stadler have left Hammelburg. They'll pull off into the woods near the Weizenfeld bridge, and wait till they see Hochstetter go past, coming and going, before they finish the drive. Hochstetter's still at Gestapo headquarters, but his driver's waiting out front with the car, so it looks like he's coming here, all right."

"That's perfect," murmured Hogan. "Are those the field marshal's papers?"

"All done." Kinch passed him the neat leather document folder. "Of course, most likely no-one's going to ask to see them, but the one time you don't have 'em is the one time you can be sure you'll need 'em. The map and instructions for the rendezvous with the sub are stitched into the lining."

"Good work, Kinch." Hogan passed the folder to Zauner. "Keep it safe."

Zauner nodded. "_Danke_," he murmured. "_Für alles, danke_."

"Glad to help out," replied Hogan. "Okay, let's run through it one more time. When Dietrich arrives, LeBeau will be on the gate to sign him in. That way none of the goons will notice that you're not in the car. As soon as he pulls up in front of the Kommandant's office, you'll leave the barracks, stop in the middle of the parade ground and start looking as if you're making an inspection. Newkirk and his crew will handle the diversion. Irma, you wait in the barracks with me and Kinch until someone comes to fetch you. That'll be after Jäger's been sent off on his wild goose chase - the goose being Hochstetter. Once Irma's with you, you cut the visit short, and you get out fast. Are we all clear?"

"Yes, Colonel," said Zauner.

"Good. Now, we've done as much as we can, but it rests with you, Zauner. If you put on a convincing act for the guys upstairs, then you're home free. Can you do it?"

Zauner hesitated, with a long, loving look at Irma. Then he straightened, raised his chin, and looked down his nose. "Colonel Hogan, you dare to doubt the credibility of a _Feldmarschall_ of the Third Reich?" he replied in icy tones.

Hogan blinked, and began to smile. For a few seconds, Zauner continued to gaze at him, then abruptly the mask of hauteur crumbled into the gentle humility they were used to. "Was that right?" he asked tentatively.

Hogan's eyes were alight with laughter; but he kept his face straight, drew himself up, and saluted. "_Herr Feldmarschall_," he said, "that was as right as it could get."


	38. Chapter 38

The sentries on the main gate this morning had only recently joined the Stalag 13 guard contingent, but already they knew the changing of the guards, scheduled for nine o'clock, was always delayed; nobody was ever in a hurry to come on duty. So the approach of their relief, only four minutes after the hour, was a pleasant surprise. Reimann, anxious to get to the mess hall, paid little attention to their two replacements, but Berg took a second look; one of the new shift was unusually short.

"I have not seen you before," said Berg, a doubtful pucker creasing his forehead.

The little man shrugged. "I haven't seen you, either. Hans, have you seen this man before?"

"I don't think so," replied his companion, peering at Berg with a frown of concentration. "Are you sure he's one of us?"

The short one gave it some thought. "I guess he must be. Who else would he be, one of the prisoners? On guard duty? I don't think so." He finished with a chuckle, which Berg echoed uneasily.

"You have a very unusual accent," he commented.

"Where I come from, everyone talks like this." The little man exchanged a glance with his partner. "You know, you could be on to something, Hans. He sure doesn't know much, for a guard. Maybe one of us should check with Sergeant Schultz."

The hint was all it took. Berg, still new enough to be intimidated by the sergeant of the guard, disclaimed hurriedly. "I assure you, I didn't mean anything. And the sergeant has gone out to check on the construction of the drainage channel, so why bother him now?" He gave a nervous smile, and hurried off after Reimann.

"See, Addison?" said LeBeau under his breath. "I told you it would be okay."

"Yeah, I guess you were right," Addison conceded. "But what about the guys in the towers? They ain't so wet behind the ears as those two. What happens if they recognise us?"

"They won't," replied LeBeau, serenely confident. "That's the beauty of having Schultz on our team for once. He posted Ziegler, who will already be asleep, and Wittenberg, who's practically blind. At this distance he couldn't tell Goering from Ginger Rogers."

"Well, just say one of them does just happen to notice..."

"That's simple." LeBeau's response was completely matter-of-fact. "We get shot."

Addison sighed. "Oh, great. And there was me worrying over nothing."

* * *

Schultz was not, in fact, checking on Joliffe's construction project; instead, he stood behind a hastily-erected barrier, a little way along the road to Hammelburg, and he was far from happy about it.

"Why did I agree to do this? Oh, if the Kommandant finds out, it will be worth my life," he moaned. "Just thinking about it makes me feel dizzy."

"So don't think about it, Schultz," said Carter easily. "Because if you get so dizzy you pass out, I'm not going to try to get you back up, no, sirree. A guy could hurt himself trying to lift that kind of weight without help."

The roadblock had been set up past the first bend in the road, out of sight of Stalag 13, but with a clear line of sight to the hillside above, where Joliffe and his gang were working. Carter waved to them, and received a wave from Joliffe in reply.

"Carter, please, don't attract attention." Schultz modulated into a low-pitched whine. "Prison guards don't wave at the prisoners. It is against the rules."

"Well, gee, Schultz, I'm just trying to be friendly. You know what my mom always says? She says it doesn't cost a cent to be nice to people."

"Maybe it doesn't, where you come from," Schultz replied, strong disapproval evident in every syllable. "Here, it can get you into a lot of trouble."

He glanced at his companion, then looked again. Carter's misadventure on the Bernsdorf road had left him with a couple of souvenirs, and although the bruises below his eyes had already faded to yellow, they were still barely visible in the pale watery morning light; just visible enough to set off a nebulosity of questions in Schultz's mind, although he finally fixed on something else. "What happened to your nose?"

"Oh, that?" Carter ran one finger along from bridge to tip. "Well, it was just an accident, Schultz. You know how we were out driving the other night...?"

Schultz cut him off. "Don't tell me."

He turned away, and gazed down the road, taking refuge, as always, in the frail shelter of his own ignorance. Carter suppressed a chuckle, looking at the big German with something akin to affection. No matter what disasters befell them, no matter how desperate the situation, there was one constant they could always count on. Regardless of what he might have seen or heard, Schultz always knew nothing.

* * *

"Of course, General Burkhalter, we're always ready to receive visitors," babbled Klink into the telephone receiver. "It's just that at the moment..."

The sentence faltered into silence at the rebuke he received: "Klink, this is not a request. Field Marshal von Kremmer will be paying a brief inspection call this morning. Whether you are ready or not is immaterial."

"Yes, General Burkhalter." Klink's response was so meek, the man at the other end of the phone line could hardly contain himself.

After a moment he continued, but there was a distinct quiver in his voice. "Now, as I'm sure even you will understand, this visit is not official. The Field Marshal is travelling incognito, he is most anxious for his present whereabouts to remain confidential." He sighed faintly. "I have assured him of your discretion. Please, for once, do not let me down, Klink."

"You can rely on me, General," said Klink. "However, I should probably mention that I have another visitor at present, a Colonel Jäger..."

"Is that so, Klink? I wonder why this is the first I've heard of it. Jäger...I know that name." Clearly he knew nothing good of the man. "SS, I believe. From what I have been told, he will certainly not want his own presence in your area to become generally known. I think we can safely assume he will not mention the matter to anyone outside Stalag 13. And neither will you, Klink. Not even to me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, General Burkhalter," mumbled Klink; then, with a feeble attempt at a rally, "And may I just say..."

But a click on the line indicated the conversation was over. It didn't occur to the Kommandant to question whether the acerbic voice in his ear had in fact belonged to Burkhalter. Nor did he suspect for a moment that the call had originated, not in the general's office in Hammelburg, but directly below Barracks 2.

"Kinch, I'm not sure I approve," remarked Hogan, who had listened in on the call with silent amusement. "You're starting to enjoy that way too much."

Kinch grinned. "Why should Burkhalter have all the fun?"

"Well, he is a general. I guess pushing Klink around is one of the perks." Hogan returned the grin, and headed off to the barracks.

Jäger's car stood outside the Kommandant's office, waiting for him. Hogan had anticipated it, but it didn't suit him for Jäger to leave just yet; he wanted to make sure the SS colonel was headed directly away from the coast, putting plenty of distance between him and his quarry.

A few of the prisoners were carrying out a long-overdue litter patrol, armed with trash bags and long-handled spikes. Brodkin performed the task meticulously, taking apparent pleasure in spiking each item as close as possible to the centre, and inspecting his catches in a manner suggesting he had plans to enter them in a competition. He made a sharp contrast to Newkirk, who, with a lackadaisical air and a cigarette dangling from his lips, seemed bent on demonstrating what was meant by the term "half-arsed". While those two worked back and forth across the parade ground, Walters made his way around behind Jäger's car, under the suspicious eye of the SS driver.

Newkirk came to a stop a short distance from the front of the car, yawned, and scratched his ribs with his free hand. He took the cigarette end out of his mouth, stared at it as if wondering where the rest of it had gone, then flicked it to the ground and moved off again.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Newkirk." Brodkin's voice echoed across the yard. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What?" Newkirk gazed at him, eyes wide with wounded innocence; but Brodkin barrelled on regardless.

"Here's the rest of us trying to keep the place tidy, and you just don't give a damn. How'd you like it if some of our guys went dumping litter all over Hyde Park?"

"From what I hear, mate, that's about all you Yanks do, in between chasing women," Newkirk snapped back. "And since when did it matter what kind of a state this rat hole is in?"

The argument escalated rapidly, attracting attention not only from the nearest guards, but also from Jäger's men. Walters turned a startled look on his fellow prisoners, then gazed wide-eyed at the Krauts. Seeing they were all momentarily distracted, he moved a little closer to the staff car, just close enough to bring him within spiking distance of the rear tyre. Then he retreated again, just as Hogan came striding across from the barracks to break up the dispute.

"Okay, you two, that's enough," he barked. Both men turned to him, breaking into heated protests, which he cut across ruthlessly. "I don't want to hear it. Come to attention, both of you. That's better." He regarded the pair with stern disapproval. "I don't know whether it slipped your notice, but you're in the army, and that kind of behaviour is not tolerated. Understood?"

"But, Colonel - " Newkirk started.

"No." Hogan held up one finger.

"But - "

"No."

A moment of silence ensued.

"He started it," muttered Brodkin.

"Well, of all the - "

"Quiet!" It wasn't often Hogan had to raise his voice to his men, but when he did, they obeyed. He allowed them a few seconds to realise just how unacceptable their conduct was, before he continued. "Now, get back to work. And I don't want to hear one more word from either of you. Remember, we're guests in this country, and if we don't make a good impression, they won't invite us back."

He glanced at Walters, who was now pottering innocently around the far end of the building, too far from the car to be blamed for the damage he'd just done to it. Then, with a final reproving glower at the erstwhile combatants, Hogan retreated to the barracks, where he settled at the window, observing as Jäger, with Klink in attendance, came out of the office. The two officers paused on the steps, while one of Jäger's men hastened to open the car door in readiness.

As Jäger got in, Walters edged forward, hesitantly, holding up a hand like a schoolboy trying to get the teacher's attention. Klink waved him away, but Walters persisted, pointing towards the rear wheel. The Kommandant looked, then abruptly gestured to the driver to stop.

Hogan kept watching, ready to intervene if Jäger showed any signs of suspicion as to the cause of the puncture. But although he did glare at Walters, and at the other prisoners loitering nearby, the look spoke more of annoyance than of mistrust. He issued a curt order to his driver, and returned to the office with Klink, leaving his men to change the wheel, under the unwanted supervision of Newkirk and his accomplices.

Assured that the SS men were gainfully occupied for now, Hogan turned his attention to the main gate. LeBeau and Addison were in position; and although Carter and Schultz were out of sight, they should be ready by now, as well. The tension in Hogan's shoulders relaxed slightly, as he turned to his right-hand man.

"You know something, Kinch?" he said. "I'm beginning to think this might just work."


	39. Chapter 39

Hogan had predicted Major Hochstetter's movements with perfect accuracy. Scarcely half an hour after Carter and Schultz had set up their road barrier, a familiar black staff car came into sight.

"Go and talk to him, Carter," said Schultz.

"No way, Schultz. You have to do it," Carter whispered back. "You don't want him recognising me, and asking what the heck's going on, do you? Don't look so scared. I'll be right behind you."

"I would rather you were right in front of me," Schultz mumbled, as he shuffled forward.

The greeting he received did nothing to encourage him: "Schultz, what is going on here? Haven't you already obstructed the war effort enough for one man?"

"If you please, Major Hochstetter..." Schultz began; then stalled, momentarily struck dumb by the scorching glare he received. A cough from his offsider recalled him to his part. "If you please, the road here is closed."

"What kind of nonsense is this?" Hochstetter growled furiously. "Did Colonel Jäger put you up to this, Schultz? Because if so, believe me, there will be consequences."

"_N...n...nein, __Herr __Major_." Schultz swallowed nervously and gave Carter an imploring glance before his tongue stumbled on. "As a result of the rain and the construction work above the road, there has been a little mudslide, and the road is blocked."

"Then how am I to get to Stalag 13?" demanded Hochstetter. "Do you expect me to walk the rest of the way? With a broken foot?"

Schultz dried completely, and sent another desperate appeal to Carter, who suppressed a sigh. Hogan had told him not to intervene unless it was necessary; but there had never been any doubt in Carter's mind about whether it would come to this. Even under the best of circumstances, Schultz was petrified of this man.

_I __guess __it's __up __to __me, __after __all,_ thought Carter.

Adopting the pinched, narrow-lipped expression and tightened voice of his standard German character, he replied to Hochstetter's query: "The road to camp coming from the other direction is not affected. If you return to Hammelburg, take the Heiligen road and come back from there, you could reach Stalag 13 in only two hours."

"Two hours!" Hochstetter ground his teeth.

"_Jawohl, __Herr __Major._ But that road is certainly clear," Carter went on, in clipped tones. "Colonel Jäger had no difficulty getting away this morning."

"That is very well for Colonel Jäger," snapped the Gestapo, "but my time is too valuable to...wait, you say Colonel Jäger has left Stalag 13?"

His eyes fixed on Carter, narrowing slightly, but showing no hint of recognition.

"That's right, Major Hochstetter," quavered Schultz, remembering his lines, or at least a fragment thereof. "That's exactly what I was meant to...I mean, he left only an hour ago."

"After he got the phone call," Carter prompted.

"_Ja_, the phone call..."

"From Heiligen..."

"What phone call?" Hochstetter interrupted.

Schultz responded to the sharpness of his tone by jerking to attention, all his chins wobbling. "Beg to report, _Herr __Major_, Colonel Jäger received a call this morning, from Heiligen. And he got in his car and drove away at once."

"Who called him? What did they say?"

"He didn't tell me," Schultz stammered, clutching at his self-possession. "That is...he...I...he..."

He floundered, and Carter had to come to the rescue again. "I think he was meeting friends there. I heard him tell his driver to take him to the hotel, and to go as fast as possible, to get there before they could leave."

"I heard it, too," Schultz added.

Hochstetter's hands clenched. "Did you hear their name, by any chance?"

"Uh...it started with..." Schultz trailed off.

"It started with an M," Carter put in. Hochstetter relaxed slightly; but Carter hadn't finished. "No...wait, not an M – I think it was Z. Zahler...Zauber...something like that."

"Zauner?" the Gestapo spat out.

Carter pondered. "_Ja_, I think it could have been."

For a few seconds, Hochstetter glared at him, as if trying to see past the mask of stolid ignorance. Gaining nothing, he turned on his driver. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

The driver, flustered, put the car into reverse with a jerk, executed a three-point turn which nearly sent the vehicle into the trees. The wheels skidded briefly on the unsealed road surface, before the car roared away in the direction of Hammelburg, sending gravel flying. Carter and Schultz watched as it receded and vanished.

"Carter, tell me something," Schultz said, after a long silence. "Did I just tell the Gestapo something that wasn't true?"

"You sure did, Schultz," replied Carter. "But don't worry, it was in a good cause."

If the low incoherent grumble Schultz gave in response was anything to go by, he found little consolation in such assurance. He turned his back on his coadjutor, and began dismantling the barrier.

As the Gestapo car sped on its way, another vehicle edged out from the cover of a small thicket edging the road, and headed towards the roadblock. The driver took a quick look at his passenger, his eyes softening, and she glanced back, with a tiny smile; but they didn't speak.

Carter gave them a wave and a grin as they went past.

"Shouldn't we stop them?" whispered Schultz.

"What for?" asked Carter. Then he looked up at the workmen on the slope above, and raised his hand in another brief greeting.

"Carter, I already asked you not to do that," mumbled Schultz. "You know what your trouble is? You don't know how to be a German soldier. Please, try to be a little less friendly when you're wearing our uniform, otherwise you're going to spoil our reputation."

"Okay, Schultz," replied Carter. "But only 'cause you asked nicely."

Joliffe had moved away as soon as he saw Carter's signal; coming within sight of Barracks 2, he stopped, took off his cap, gave it a vigorous shake as though trying to dislodge some unwelcome visitor, and put it on again.

From the window of Hogan's quarters, Kinch had a perfect view. He closed the shutter, and left the office. "Dietrich's on his way, Colonel," he reported.

Hogan went to the door, opened it and looked out. Jäger's men were still trying to change the wheel on his staff car, while the prisoners on litter patrol watched on. Newkirk glanced across, caught the colonel's eye, and nodded. He and his accomplices were ready. Hogan closed the door again, and turned to give his final instructions to the lead actors in the performance which was about to kick off.

"Okay, this is it," he said. "Doctor, you know what you have to do. Irma..." He looked down at the girl's pale little face. "Remember, your grandfather's a field marshal. So that means you outrank everyone in this camp, including me - and Jäger. So you just keep that in mind, all right?" He put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a reassuring, almost fatherly hug. "It's going to be fine. You've got what it takes, honey. You'll breeze through it."

She clung to him, folded for a last few moments in the protection which had surrounded her from the moment Newkirk had brought her out of the floodwaters. Then she looked up, her eyes bright.

"I won't forget," she whispered

Hogan gave her an approving nod. "Good girl. Go and wait with Kinch. "

He put his hand on Zauner's shoulder. "You ready?"

"I am ready," replied Zauner, setting his shoulders firmly, and raising his chin.

The car had come into sight. Addison, in his guard's uniform, hastened to open the gate, while LeBeau stepped forward to advise Dietrich of the last few details. In front of the Kommandant's office, one of Jäger's SS men noticed the new arrival, and looked over his shoulder.

Newkirk went straight into diversion mode. "You know, Walters," he said casually, but loudly enough to be overheard, "it's no wonder the Jerries are losing the war. They just have no idea. Now, if I was doing that job..."

Brodkin sniggered. "If you were doing _any _job..."

"Lay off," Newkirk growled back. "I'm just saying, that's not how we were taught to change a tyre. We'd have had that done in ten minutes, and still had time for a cup of tea and a currant bun. These lads have been at it for longer than that, and they haven't even got the old wheel off. What an absolute shower!"

"He's got a point," remarked Walters, frowning slightly. "I used to hang around my pa's motor garage Saturday mornings, and his boys had it down to six minutes. See, they'd have two guys take the wheel off, and another two ready to put the spare on..."

"What, four men to change one tyre? No, you only want two," said Newkirk. "One to do the work, and one to hold his tools for him. That leaves the other two free to put the kettle on and warm the teapot. Of course, I doubt this lot would even manage that without dropping it."

"They've already lost a couple of wheel nuts," Brodkin put in. "That guy on the end is a real butterfingers."

The guy on the end lost interest in the car at the gate, and turned a fierce glare on the unwanted spectators, with a growl: "_Amerikanische __Schweine_!"

"I take exception to that," Newkirk tossed back. "I've been called a lot of insulting names in my time, but never _American_...! You just dropped another one," he added smugly.

The man straightened up. "Perhaps we should make this _Klugschwätzer_ and his friends show us how it should be done," he remarked to the other SS men.

From their expressions, it seemed they were in agreement.

Dietrich's car had now cleared the gate. LeBeau nodded to Addison. "Go ahead," he whispered.

Addison strolled across the gate towards the left-hand guard tower. "Hey, you up there," he called, in almost flawless German. "What time is it?"

"_Was __ist __los_?" asked Private Wittenberg, peering down at him. LeBeau's assessment of his eyesight had been pretty close to the truth Somehow he managed to combine hyperopia with nearsightedness, so of course the army had made him a tank driver, until he'd developed bunions, in response to which he'd been reassigned to Stalag 13, where he spent nearly every waking hour on his feet.

Addison held up his arm, tapping a finger against his wrist. "My watch stopped, and his is lost," he replied, gesturing towards LeBeau.

"It is...let me see..." Wittenberg brought out his pocket watch, and tried to bring it into focus, holding it at arm's length, then bringing it close till it almost touched his nose. It was going to take him some time to reply.

LeBeau glanced up at the other tower. True to form, Ziegler had propped himself up against one of the corner posts, and dozed off. It was almost insulting. _We __deserve __better __guards_, thought LeBeau.

With the SS men and the tower guards all momentarily distracted, the car drew to a stop a few feet from Jäger's. Dietrich hopped out briskly, and went round to open the door for his passenger. Hogan, watching from the barracks, tightened his grip on Zauner's shoulder.

"Go on," he murmured, pushing him gently forward.

The old man breathed in and out a couple of times, then raised his chin and strode out of the barracks and across the yard, to meet his supposed son-in-law, while Hogan took up a position outside the door, where he could observe without attracting notice.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect. Just as the two men came together, the door of the office flew open, and Klink came racing out to greet his distinguished visitor.

"Welcome to Stalag 13, _Herr __Feldmarschall_," he burbled. "Oh, I can't begin to tell you what an honour this is..."

"I already know what an honour it is," replied Zauner, regarding him with the kind of aversion normally reserved for blackbeetles. "Colonel Klink, if I'm not mistaken?"

The Kommandant snapped his heels together, and saluted. "At your service, sir."

"I daresay." Zauner returned the salute with indifference, then gestured towards his companion. "My son-in-law, Major Dietrich. And this is my daughter." He held out his hand to the slender blue-clad lady still standing beside the car, and she came forward to clasp his fingers in her own. Nobody watching could have guessed this was only the second time they had met. Her manner had just the right blend of filial respect and affection.

At sight of her, Hogan had to smile. Their friends in Hammelburg had obviously done their best to find something worthy of the part she was playing, and on most women such an elaborately over-trimmed outfit would have been embarrassing. Gisela Stadler was the exception; instead of being defined by her clothes, she endowed them with some of her own natural grace. Dietrich was a lucky man, in more ways than one.

"A great pleasure, madame." Klink bowed, his eyes lighting up with admiration. She smiled, quite graciously, then looked past him. The Kommandant turned his head. "Ah, you find us with another visitor, sir. Perhaps you are already acquainted with Colonel Jäger?"

Hogan watched on with some anxiety, as Irma's grandfather finally came face to face with the man who had pursued her so ruthlessly, and with such singular ill intent. But Zauner, with Irma's safety at the front of his mind, was well in control. He even smiled, with pompous condescension.

"I don't believe so," he said thoughtfully. "Jäger, did you say? No, I'm sure we've never been introduced. But any loyal officer of the Third Reich is a welcome acquaintance. I'm very pleased to meet you, Colonel Jäger."


	40. Chapter 40

"Field Marshal von Kremmer," murmured Jäger, gazing at Zauner. "I have heard of you, of course, sir. You have been assisting with planning the strategy for the spring campaign in Russia, I believe."

Hogan, walking briskly across the yard to greet the supposed _Feldmarschall_, was just in time to hear him. It was hard to tell whether Jäger was merely being polite, or testing Zauner's credentials; either way, a wrong answer could bring about the collapse of the whole precarious structure on which Zauner was balanced. And the only one who knew the right answer was Dietrich, who was hardly in a position to incercept the question without arousing suspicion.

Luckily, Jäger had left an opening, and Hogan went for it. "Gosh, Colonel, that's a bit thoughtless, isn't it? I thought you SS officers were more tactful than that."

Jäger glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"Don't they teach you guys anything?" Hogan gave a soft, incredulous chuckle. "Since when does a field marshal _assist_? He runs the show, or he goes home and sulks, but he doesn't assist. Well, not unless the boss of the project is someone important, like say...what's his name? Funny little guy, moustache, shouts a lot?"

"Hogan!" Klink, momentarily dumbstruck, finally managed to speak. "This is outrageous! Back to the barracks, at once."

"One moment, Klink," said Zauner. "This man is one of your prisoners?"

"Colonel Robert E. Hogan, senior prisoner-of-war officer," Hogan replied, before Klink could get a word in. "And on behalf of my men, I'd like to..."

Zauner cut him off without ceremony. "You are aware, of course, that you have just demonstrated gross disrespect towards an officer of the Third Reich, as well as towards our Führer?"

"Well, I..."

"If it were not for this ridiculous Geneva Convention nonsense," Zauner continued, "it would be a pleasure to teach you a lesson in civility."

He had taken the catch like a professional, and thrown it straight back to home plate. Hogan couldn't have been more delighted. Nevertheless, he adopted a wounded manner, and a petulant mumble. "You try to be nice..."

"However, I must concede, you are in one respect correct. I am answerable only to the Führer." Zauner turned away from Hogan, consigning him to the realms of insignificance, and addressed Jäger as if nobody else were present. "As for which battle front I am engaged on, that information is classified. You will understand, of course, Jäger, I can neither confirm nor deny any speculation. At least, not in present company." His eyes flickered briefly towards Klink, then back again.

There was a moment of slightly awkward silence, which the Kommandant hastened to fill. "_Herr __Feldmarschall_, would you care to step into my office for a little refreshment before the inspection?"

Dietrich fielded that one. "I hardly think we have time, sir. We are already behind schedule, owing to delays at Heiligen."

"You came through Heiligen?" asked Jäger, his air of supercilious boredom cracking slightly.

"We did," grumbled Zauner. "A miserable little town. The streets were full of water, and that fool of a Gestapo tried to arrest me."

That brought Jäger's senses to full alert. "What Gestapo?"

"They tried to arrest you,a field marshal of the Third Reich?" said Klink, at the same moment. "But why on earth would the Gestapo do such a thing?"

"Unpaid traffic ticket, maybe?" suggested Hogan, bouncing back from the previous snub.

It made no impression on Zauner, who merely scowled. "The ignorant ruffian thought I was someone else, and wouldn't listen to reason. Fortunately they found the man they were looking for, hiding in the hotel, with his daughter."

"Granddaughter, I believe, sir," said Dietrich.

"Daughter, granddaughter, as if it mattered. They were obviously criminals. To think anyone could mistake me for such a man...! Well, what are you grinning about?" This last was directed at Hogan, who hastily dismissed the smile from his face.

"Nothing, sir, nothing at all," he replied. "But, you gotta admit, it's pretty funny...well, maybe not. Still..."

"_Herr __Feldmarschall_," Jäger broke in, "by any chance was this Gestapo man called Hochstetter?"

Klink uttered a squeak, and almost choked, but nobody so much as glanced at him.

"I didn't ask his name," said Zauner. "One Gestapo is very like another. But I can tell you, he was an ugly brute."

"Well, that narrows it down," observed Hogan, still unsuppressed.

"Is he a friend of yours, Jäger?" Zauner went on, as if Hogan hadn't spoken.

"An acquaintance. But I have an interest in his current investigation. Is he in Heiligen now?"

"No, he took his prisoners away," replied Dietrich, in deferential tones. "In fact, his staff car almost ran into us as we were leaving. They were obviously in a hurry, the driver didn't even brake."

"So he went back to his office in Hammelburg," said Klink.

"I don't think so. We came that way. The Gestapo went in the opposite direction, towards the east. South-east, actually."

That was it; the little bit of sugar which, hopefully, would entice Jäger to take the bait. A south-eastern route would lead to the Austrian border, and to the town of Kahlendorf, where Irma's childhood had been so rudely shattered; where Jäger had taken his most dangerous acquisition for safekeeping, and had ruthlessly disposed of all witnesses; and where the treasured amber panels, taken from the Catherine Palace outside Leningrad, now lay, just waiting for Hochstetter to find them.

Hogan met Gisela's eyes, and made a small cut-off gesture. Jäger had all the information he needed now; anything more, and the whole thing would be overcooked.

She knew exactly what to do, and gave Zauner's arm an affectionate squeeze. "Papa, please, can't you get this horrid inspection over with? Nobody cares about the Gestapo, everything about them is unbearably sordid. You promised we would be in Paris in time for the opera."

Zauner patted her hand. "Of course, my dear. Kommandant, if you please..."

"Klink, I must take my leave," interrupted Jäger. "There is an urgent matter requiring my attention. If you will forgive me, _Herr__Feldmarschall_. Madame..."

He saluted, gave a short bow, and turned towards his car. His men, still fussing around the spare wheel, straightened up.

"Well? Haven't you finished yet?" Jäger snapped.

"Just this moment, _Herr __Standartenführer_," replied his driver; while one of his colleagues hastily lowered the jack, and the other rolled the damaged wheel out of the way. "Your orders?"

"We leave at once." Jäger glanced around, his eyes darkening with suspicion as they fell on Newkirk and his accomplices, who were still loitering under the pretence of litter patrol. "The repository," he added softly.

The SS men obviously knew what he meant. Within half a minute, the staff car was heading for the main gate, sliding a little in the mud. LeBeau had retired into the sentry box, in case Jäger recognised him from their previous meeting; this left Addison to open the gate, and he took his time about it. The car barely missed him, as it accelerated out onto the road, oversteered, corrected, and headed east.

Hogan, while listening to the departure, kept his eyes on Zauner. This was the danger point, the moment at which the old man might just let his guard down. The slight softening of the field marshal's stern expression, and the barely detectable slump in his shoulders, showed the strain on his nerves, but he couldn't be allowed to relax. Even with Jäger out of the way, it wasn't a clear run yet.

Klink had already turned his attention back to his distinguished visitor. "Well, sir, I wonder what you would like to see first. The recreation hall? The quartermaster's store?"

"Perhaps the field marshal should inspect the barracks," suggested Dietrich. "As the purpose of this camp is to house the prisoners, it would be most appropriate for him to see the conditions under which they are kept."

"Kommandant, I protest." Hogan broke in with a fine display of indignation. "We weren't warned to expect visitors, and the place is a mess. At least give us time to change the slip covers."

"Hogan!" The Kommandant's fury found expression, not only in the impotent clenching of his fists, but in an involuntary stamp of his foot. "You know the barracks are to be ready for inspection at all times."

"You ever tried getting boys to keep their room tidy?" Hogan shrugged. "I do my best, but I can't keep on picking up after them, no, sir. You want the place kept up to the mark, get us a maid. Or invite Newkirk's mother over. I hear she knows how to keep 'em in line."

"That will do, Hogan," hissed the Kommandant. "Nobody wants to see Newkirk's mother here."

"Well, I imagine _he_ might," observed Hogan. "According to him, she makes a great plum duff, whatever that is."

Klink ignored him, and turned back to his visitor. "_Herr __Feldmarschall_, I must apologise. These Americans, and their so-called sense of humour...!" He held up his hands in a gesture of helpless bewilderment. "It's no wonder they're losing the war. They refuse to take anything seriously."

"They will learn, in time," growled Zauner, partially retrieving his self-possession. "When our glorious armies march into their cities...I will see the barracks. That building there will do as a representative sample." He smiled slightly at Gisela. "I think you will prefer to wait here, my dear. This cannot possibly be of interest to you."

"Perhaps Madame would like to wait in comfort in my quarters," suggested Klink, with eager solicitude.

Gisela regarded him with distaste, and drew the collar of her coat closer around her throat. "I would rather not. You will be quick, won't you, Papa?"

"As quick as possible, _Liebchen_," replied Zauner.

He started towards Barracks 2, with Dietrich pacing deferentially two steps behind on the right, and Klink in anxious attendance two steps behind on the left. Hogan, with a few swift steps, imposed himself between the Kommandant and the field marshal.

"Well, if you insist on seeing our happy home," he said, "at least let me point out some of the design features. Are you familiar with the Expressionist style, Field Marshal? Well, this sure ain't it. But it's got its own unique charm - if you find outhouses charming."

Once again, Zauner let this pass, with magnificent disdain. He stopped in front of the door, with a significant glance at the Kommandant, who hastened to open the door for him.

"...and my father was a hero at the Russian Front." A clear, childish voice rang out, as they entered the barracks. "And my grandfather has lunch with _Reichsmarschall_ Goering every Thursday."

"Well, my father was enlisted in the Black Devils in the last war." Kinch, a mug of coffee in his hand and a gleam in his eye, gave as good as he got. "And my grandfather once met Thomas Edison. In fact, he's in one of Edison's kinetoscope films, you can just see him, if you squint hard enough."

Irma, sitting on the table as if she owned the place, scowled, and prepared to escalate her claim. "Well, my Aunt Mimi is a close personal friend of _Reichsführer_..."

She broke off, becoming aware of her audience, and slipped off the table, gazing at her grandfather with wide eyes. "I was just telling this _Amerikaner_..." she stammered.

"So I heard." Zauner tried to frown, but his lips twitched slightly. "Klink, I must apologise for this. My grandson was told to wait in the car. But he has an adventurous spirit."

Klink, completely flabbergasted at this unexpected presence in the barracks, somehow managed to utter a strangulated response. "_Herr __Feldmarschall_...I...of course, I..." He trailed off, nodding his head, unable to put a complete sentence together.

Zauner turned to Dietrich. "Paul, take the boy to his mother, if you please."

The major, with a look in his eye which promised due chastisement at a later date, beckoned. "Come, Rudolf." Irma shuffled her feet, pouted, and did as she was told.

"So, this is how your prisoners live, Klink," said Zauner. "It seems comfortable enough, for such men." He gazed around the hut, just as if it were the first time he'd set foot in the place. "They should be much cleaner, and better maintained. Who is responsible for repairs to the buildings?"

"The prisoners carry out any necessary repairs themselves, sir," replied Klink. "We provide them with materials and..." He broke off, glaring at Hogan, who had uttered a snort of derision. "And the necessary tools," he finished up, through gritted teeth.

The field marshal gave a dismissive grunt. "Then it surprises me to see evidence of neglect. See to it, Klink - have your own men do the work, to show how it should be done." He met Hogan's eyes as he spoke. So little as he could do to repay the prisoners for everything they'd done, he'd found at least one chance and taken it.

"But, _Herr __Feldmarschall_..." Klink protested feebly; but his objection crumbled to dust under the scorching glare he received. "I shall see to it at once."

Zauner turned away from him, and nodded towards the door of Hogan's office. "What is in there?"

"That's where the girls are," said Hogan, straight-faced.

"Hogan, enough of your jokes!" Once again, Klink resorted to stamping his foot. "You know very well women are not allowed in this camp."

Hogan shrugged. "Now he tells me."

Klink looked ready to explode; but before he could actually do so, Dietrich returned to the barracks. "Excuse me, sir, but as you no doubt remember, you are meant to be dining with the military governor in Paris tonight. If you are to make the engagement, I'm afraid we will have to cut this visit short."

"I had not forgotten," grumbled Zauner. "Klink, I will have to complete my inspection on my way back from Paris. I trust that is acceptable to you."

"Of course, _Herr __Feldmarschall_," said Klink, his aspect brightening visibly. "Stalag 13 is always ready for inspection. Uh, when might we expect you, sir?"

The field marshal - even Hogan was starting to buy it now - brushed off the question. "You will know I am coming when I arrive. Thank you for your time, Kommandant."

He saluted, and strode out of the barracks, and once again Klink and Dietrich fell in behind.

"You know something, Colonel? I'm beginning to think this might just work," murmured Kinch.

Hogan nodded. "If it does, it's down to Zauner. I wasn't sure he had it in him, but..." The rest of the sentence fell away, as he reached the door. Zauner and his attendants were already halfway across the parade ground. Beside Dietrich's car, Gisela stood with her arm around Irma's shoulders; but they weren't watching the approach of the field marshal. Their attention was fixed on the main gate.

"What the hell is he doing back here?" said Kinch softly.

Hogan didn't have an answer. But the reason for Irma's visible agitation was clear. Right now, Jäger was supposed to be breaking every road rule in his haste to get to Kahlendorf before Hochstetter did. He certainly ought not to be at the front gate, hectoring a recalcitrant Addison and demanding admittance.

It didn't matter why he was back. The fact was, he was there, at the worst possible moment, just when the witness he'd been tracking so relentlessly, for so long, was in plain view.

Irma was terrified of him; but she would have to face him down, if she and her grandfather were to survive.

* * *

_Note: The "Black Devils" (370th Infantry Regiment, constituted from the Eighth Illinois National Guard) were deployed in France towards the end of the First World War. The 370th was the only African-American regiment in which almost all the officers were also black._


	41. Chapter 41

_Where's __Jäger's __car?_

Of all the questions in Hogan's mind, as he watched the SS colonel attempting to bulldoze past Addison at the gate, that was the one he dismissed as the most inconsequential. But it refused to be ignored. Scarcely ten minutes ago, Jäger had left in a speeding staff car. Now he was back, and on foot. Why?

As far as Irma was concerned, "why" probably didn't matter. For all she knew, Jäger had come for her; she remained where she was, clinging to Gisela, too scared to move. Zauner, too, had lost focus, but Dietrich kept his head. He leaned closer to the old man, murmuring something in his ear, and Zauner nodded, and straightened up.

It took a few moments longer for Klink to notice the disturbance at the gate. "Now what?" he muttered audibly.

Hogan, strolling across the yard, arrived just in time to reply: "Looks like Colonel Jäger forgot something. Doesn't that always happen? You know, I once drove all the way to Des Moines before I found out I'd left my toothbrush in Pittsburgh. You ever tried to buy a toothbrush in Des Moines on a Saturday night?"

"This is none of your business, Hogan!" snapped Klink. "Please excuse me, _Herr __Feldmarschall_. Obviously Colonel Jäger has met with some kind of difficulty, he may need assistance."

Zauner glanced at Hogan, as if seeking direction. "By all means, Klink," he murmured. The energy had gone out of his performance, but Klink was too distracted to notice. He clicked his heels, turned and strode off towards the gate.

"Colonel Hogan, what are we to do?" Dietrich muttered, as soon as the Kommandant was out of earshot. "If Jäger has realised..."

"Steady, Dietrich." Hogan kept his eyes on Jäger, as Addison finally yielded and allowed him into camp. "He's come back without his car, maybe he had a breakdown. I doubt he's got any idea she's here."

"Should I get her into the car before...?"

"No, Jäger's sure to notice if you hustle the kid out of sight." Hogan took a quick look at the girl, whose agitation was obvious. "Look, go over there and see if you can calm her down, otherwise we're all done for. Tell her to remember what I told her just now in the barracks, that'll help. Zauner..." He broke off, as Schultz came round the side of the Kommandant's office, with Carter, still in uniform, following him. They must have just returned from their part in the operation by one of the other gates.

The tension in Hogan's brow relaxed slightly. If they couldn't get Irma out of sight, they could at least back up her credentials. He summoned Kinch with a jerk of his head. "Tell Carter to get Klink's staff car from the motor pool, and leave it in front of the office, not too close. And send Schultz over here," he said. Then he turned to Zauner. "Okay, we can still make this work. But now you really have to sell it. Here's what I want you to do..."

He had just enough time to sketch out the play before Schultz came lumbering up. "What do you want now, Colonel Hogan?" he grumbled, slightly breathless.

"Me, Schultz?" Hogan gazed back at him, eyes translucent with perplexed innocence. "I don't want anything."

"But..." Schultz looked over his shoulder. "But Kinch just told me you wanted to speak to me."

"Well, actually, Schultz..." Hogan began.

"Aha, you see. I knew there was something." Schultz pursed up his lips, and turned to Zauner. "These prisoners think I'm stupid, but believe me, _Herr __Feldmarschall_, I...I...I..." He stuttered off into open-mouthed incoherency, as the meaning of the insignia on Zauner's uniform finally made it through to his brain.

"Field Marshal von Kremmer, Schultz," said Hogan. "He's the one who wants to speak to you. He recognised you on sight, of course, he remembers you perfectly from the last war."

"It wasn't me," replied Schultz quickly. "I wasn't even there. I was sick that day."

"You don't know what day it was, Schultz," Hogan pointed out.

Schultz didn't miss a beat. "I get sick a lot. I have a weak stomach."

This was news to Hogan. He chuckled, and turned to Zauner. "Well, Field Marshal, is he your man?"

"He certainly is," said Zauner, regarding Schultz with a gleam in his eye. "And I've waited many years for the chance to speak to him." He stepped forward, held out his hand to grasp Schultz's in a firm handshake, and placed the other hand on Schultz's broad shoulder. "I never thanked you, Schultz, for what you did for me in 1916."

"But I didn't..."

Zauner nodded, and even managed a reminiscent laugh. "You always were the modest one. But I have never forgotten your courage and self-sacrifice." He glanced at Hogan, who made a brief winding-up gesture. "Do you remember how I talked of my little girl? She is grown up now, and has a boy of her own. Many times I have told them of the brave sergeant who did so much for his commanding officer that day. They are here with me today, so at last they can meet the man of whom they have heard so much."

"Well, I..." Schultz paused briefly, searching his memory for any trace of the act of heroism the field marshal remembered so clearly. Finding nothing, he did exactly what could be expected of a man of his integrity. "Of course I remember, _Herr __Feldmarschall._ How could I forget? And I would be honoured to meet little...was it Gretchen?"

"Liesl."

"Oh, that's right. Little Liesl, who you always talked about." Schultz beamed. "I have thought about her almost every day."

Zauner turned towards the car, where Dietrich and Gisela had closed up on either side of Irma. He beckoned; Gisela's eyebrows drew in, but a nod from Hogan reassured her, and she bent to whisper in Irma's ear. Irma twitched slightly, but Gisela took her hand, and drew her over to her grandfather, while Dietrich remained by the car, ready to leave as soon as possible. Klink's staff car had just edged into view, at the corner of the building; Carter slipped out from behind the wheel, and made himself scarce.

"My dear Liesl," said Zauner, "allow me to introduce my dear old friend and comrade, of whom I have so often spoken. This is Sergeant Schultz. Schultz, my daughter Liesl, and my grandson Rudi."

Schultz bowed to the lady, and patted Irma on the head in a kindly, avuncular manner. "Such a fine-looking boy, _Herr __Feldmarschall_. You must be very proud. And how old are you now, Rudi?"

Irma didn't answer him, just stared. "Boy, Schultz, you must really be something," said Hogan, to cover for her. "The kid's absolutely starstruck."

"Naturally," replied Schultz, beaming with pride. "It's a big deal, meeting a real live hero." He broke off, and saluted; Klink and Jäger were approaching.

"Schultz, where on earth have you been?" Klink began fretfully. To Schultz's relief, however, he didn't wait for an answer. "No, never mind. Form a work detail of prisoners to go and assist Colonel Jäger. The wheel fell off his car."

Hogan's eyes lit up with laughter. He'd guessed right; apparently Newkirk and his assistants had over-distracted Jäger's men while they were changing the tyre. Klink, however, wasn't amused. "As for you, Hogan, you have no business being out of the barracks, so unless you want to join your men in the work party..."

"Well, gee, Colonel, I would, but the field marshal here was telling me all about him and Schultz serving together in the last war," replied Hogan in an injured tone. "You wouldn't have wanted me to just walk off and leave him standing, would you?"

Klink wilted slightly. "Well, I suppose that's an acceptable...wait, did you say Schultz served with...?"

"Sergeant Schultz is one of my oldest friends, Klink," said Zauner. "A close friend of my whole family, in fact. We hold him in very high regard."

"Is this true, Schultz?" Klink sent a suspicious glare at his sergeant.

"Oh, yes, _Herr __Kommandant_." Schultz's chest expanded, and he put his hand on Irma's shoulder. "Little Rudi here is like a nephew to me."

Jäger's gaze had fallen on Irma, and a slight crease appeared between his eyebrows. "You allow children into Stalag 13, Klink?" he asked. "Doesn't this pose a security issue?"

"No, of course I don't," replied Klink, flustered. "But...but..."

"I'm not a child," said Irma suddenly, her voice a little high-pitched, but unwavering. "I am the grandson of a _Feldmarschall_ of the Third Reich." Her eyes met Hogan's, just for a second, long enough to gain a little extra courage. "And that means I outrank everyone else here," she added boldly.

Jäger reddened slightly, and his eyes narrowed. Before he could speak, Zauner stepped in. "Rudolf, I have told you before. A good officer is always civil to his inferiors. Now you must apologise to Colonel Jäger and Kommandant Klink."

"I'm sorry for outranking you," mumbled Irma after a few seconds.

"That's right," her grandfather said, with a nod of approval. "Now, say goodbye to Uncle Schultz, and then go to the car. We will be leaving in just a few moments."

"Goodbye, Uncle Schultz." Irma hesitated, then sealed the performance by hugging as much of Schultz's rotund form as she could manage.

"_Auf __Wiedersehen,_little Rudi." Schultz engulfed her in a hug of his own. "I will see you again soon, _nicht __wahr_?"

"Kind of warms your heart, doesn't it?" confided Hogan to Jäger. Then, after a moment's thought, "No, I guess it doesn't."

Jäger ignored him; but his suspicions appeared to have been completely laid to rest, and he paid no further attention to Irma. "Please forgive the interruption, _Herr __Feldmarschall_, but I must have my car repaired, as a matter of urgency. Official business, you understand."

"Well, you know, Colonel," remarked Hogan, "if the wheel's off, it'll take some time to get the car roadworthy. Gee, if only there was another car you could use...Say, Kommandant, you weren't planning to use yours for a couple of days, right?"

Klink gave a nervous titter. "Well, actually, it's also in need of repairs at the moment..."

"It looks fine to me." Hogan tilted his head to one side, peering at the vehicle in question. "See? I guess the mechanic finished the work and brought it up so you could inspect it."

"Very obliging of him," muttered Klink, glaring at the vehicle in a manner which promised no good towards the man responsible for its presence. "I must thank him, when I get the chance."

"Colonel Klink, you are aware of the business I am engaged on," said Jäger in a low voice. "It has entered a critical phase. Will you allow me the use of your staff car?"

Klink was up in arms at once. "It's the only staff car I have, and..." He faltered, cringing away from the icy glare he had just earned, and his voice was considerably higher as he finished up: "...and of course you can take it, Colonel Jäger. I can manage with the motorcycle until you bring it back. You will bring it back, won't you?"

But Jäger had waited for no further permission. He gestured to his driver, and strode over to the staff car. Klink started to follow, then stopped dead, remembering his other visitor. "_Herr __Feldmarschall..._"

"I must also leave, Klink." Zauner waved him off. "Schultz, it was good to see you again." He gave Schultz a cordial handshake, and nodded curtly to Klink. Both men escorted him to his car; Dietrich, watching with no outward sign of tension, opened the door of the car for him, then went round to take the wheel.

Irma, already installed in the front passenger seat, peeked out as the staff car went past and hurtled out of the gate, swerving towards the east. She watched until it was out of sight. Then she looked back, and gave a tiny wave; and if Schultz wanted to believe she was waving at him, Hogan certainly wasn't going to set him straight.

Dietrich made a smooth turn out of the gate, and the car disappeared behind the trees which lay beyond the western boundary of the camp.

From opposite ends of the yard, Newkirk and Kinch came to stand beside Hogan, then Carter,in his own tattered attire, emerged from the barracks, and ambled over.

"You think they'll make it, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

"I think they've got a good chance, now." Hogan's eyes went from the road to the construction work continuing above the camp. Then he looked towards LeBeau and Addison, who would have to remain on duty at the gate until the end of their shift. Finally his gaze fell on Schultz and Klink, still standing in front of the _Kommandantur_, gazing after the departing vehicles; one of them trying to work out what he'd done to earn the field marshal's eternal gratitude, and wondering why he had no memory of doing it; the other coming to grips with the realisation that, unless he could find the courage to requisition Jäger's abandoned staff car, he would have to travel to the next staff meeting in town on the motorcycle, and that it would probably still be raining.

"Man," said Kinch, after a few moments, "was that ever a wild ride."

Newkirk chuckled lightly. "You're right there, Kinch. We really had to pull our fingers out for once."

"Boy, we sure did," said Carter. Then, after a pause, he added, "Out of what?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "And you call yourselves an English-speaking nation..."

Hogan grinned. It had been one hell of a mission, all right; one of the toughest he'd ever undertaken. But the raging water was starting to recede at last; the worst was over, and the forecast was for calmer conditions ahead.

A wild ride, for sure; but it had carried two innocents out of danger, and sent them on their way to a more certain future, and that had to be worth it.


	42. Chapter 42

"Good news, Colonel." Kinch came out of the barracks, and joined his mates in the morning sunshine. "The field marshal and his family are safe in London."

He grinned at the chorus of delighted exclamation. The only one who didn't join in was Newkirk, and he had every excuse. Even so, a wan smile briefly flickered across his drawn, pallid face. He'd been extremely cranky for the last few days, and without exactly wishing Carter to share in his misery, he was inclined to take the view that he was extremely hard done by. But whatever nasty little bug had found its way from the floodwaters into his system, it seemed to have been relatively mild. In spite of his complaints, which were numerous, he was well on the way to recovery.

"Everyone well?" asked Hogan, with a glance at the Englishman.

"Not so much as a sniffle," replied Kinch. "Zauner was pretty tired by the time they got there, but Irma bounced back real fast. Some of our people have been taking her round to see the sights, and they say she's starting to act like a kid again. And they've found a school for her, where they already have a couple of German refugees, so she should fit right in." He couldn't hide his satisfaction over this piece of news. "Of course, she'll still live with her grandpa. Dietrich's already working with army intelligence in London, and Gisela Stadler, once she's been checked out, is slated for work as a translator."

The sound of hammering broke out again, from the roof of Barracks 3, and he looked up, shading his eyes with his hand. "Boy, they must really be feeling the heat up there," he remarked.

It had taken several days, and a few reminders from Hogan, before Klink had yielded, and ordered his men to start work on the repairs to the barracks, as Zauner had suggested. But this morning they'd finally begun. Unfortunately the dispersal of the rain and the ensuing warm spell had set the water in the soil to rising, combining with the air to form a heavy, dense humidity. It didn't make things any more enjoyable for the repair crew.

"The great thing is, none of them is known to be missing from Germany," Kinch went on. "As far as anyone knows, Dietrich went to the Russian Front with his brigade, and the rumour round Heiligen - which the Underground set going - is that the flood was the last straw for Gisela, and she's closed up the hotel and gone to stay with relatives in Bremen, or Lübeck, or maybe Warnemünde. As for Zauner and Irma, well, Zauner's car has been found, so it's assumed they didn't make it out of the flood."

"Which they wouldn't have, if you three hadn't gotten yourselves lost," remarked Hogan, with a glance at the culprits - or heroes, it all depended how one looked at it - now sitting in the sunshine, as innocent in appearance as a trio of choirboys.

"Well, it came out all right, didn't it?" said Carter. "I mean, Irma's safe in England with her grandpa, and even if Dietrich and Frau Stadler can't get married just yet..."

"Why can't they get married?" interrupted LeBeau.

"Well, of course they can't, Louis," replied Carter. "He's already married, for Pete's sake. And how's he supposed to get a divorce when he's in England and his wife's in Germany?"

Nobody else had thought of that.

"They'll work something out," said Hogan at last; and he was pretty sure they would, one way or another. "Anyway, that's not our problem. How's the emergency tunnel looking?"

"Joliffe was down there this morning, he says it's safe to start using it again," replied Kinch. "We won't know if the new drainage channel's going to do the job till the next heavy rain, but he's pretty confident about it."

For some time none of them spoke, as they watched the goons at work.

"_Alors, __c'est __fini_," said LeBeau.

Hogan didn't reply at once; but Newkirk shifted uneasily, and Kinch straightened up, squaring his shoulders as if unconsciously preparing for a fight. Carter started to speak, then thought better of it.

Every one of them had the same thought in mind. There was still some unfinished business. Jäger might not have taken Irma, but by the relentlessness of his pursuit, he'd still succeeded in getting her out of his way. Hochstetter would never have the chance to question her about what she'd seen. The man who had destroyed so many lives, for the sake of his stolen treasure, might never be called to account.

For a few seconds, Hogan allowed himself to imagine how he'd deal with Jäger, if he ever got the chance. But even with all their resources, in the end they were prisoners. There was only so much they could do, and Jäger lay outside their boundary. Like it or not, they would have to let Hochstetter have this one. Hogan drew a deep breath, and smiled ruefully.

"Yeah, it's over," he said.

And, at that moment, he really believed it was.


End file.
